Until the End
by Mooka333
Summary: A twist on the story of the "friends since childhood", from the very beginning, to the very end. They made their marks in the past, but dealing with an unexpected future isn't as simple. Winnie Johnson and the two men out of time struggle with heroes, heartbreak, and memories. T - for themes, violence, and language. Bucky/OC
1. Chapter 1

_***** There won't be any more author's notes after this chapter, so forgive this annoyingly big one!**_

_**Those who know me know my penchant for the Marvel universe… and the Trek universe, and the Star Wars universe, and the DC universe, and…. Well, whatever, I'm a giant nerd… but Marvel is like my first love of the nerd world and after I saw the Winter Soldier in early 2014, I wrote this puppy in between wild fits of writing my Walking Dead fic… then I got the writer shy's and decided not to post it… but I was recently re-inspired after gorging myself on the Avengers-fic-feast that is the mind of fic-writer Team Damon (seriously read her stuff, stop reading this, read her stuff, then come back….. I'll wait….. AWESOME RIGHT?), so I thought, you know Mooka, people like your Walking Dead stuff, it's time to set this one free. **_

_**So here it is, my little Marvel baby, and after some editing and small additions, it's complete and ready to read. Please let me know your thoughts on it – each 'chapter' is going to be longish and encompass a huge chunk of time, so be ready to read. Keep in mind that I've read every Marvel comic ever, so this won't exactly follow any one Captain America universe, I loved the movies, so visualize those characters, but I've mish-mashed certain other elements where I saw fit. **_

_**I've also incorporated elements from the Avengers, even some Agents of Shield tie-ins, and some nods to the Marvel comic universe **_**around**_** Captain America – This story starts Pre-Captain America TFA and ends after TWS**_

_**I don't know how important disclaimers are, I think it's pretty obvious I'm not Stan Lee – but just to be safe, I'm fully aware that I don't a single itty bitty detail of the Marvel universe, and the only thing that follows that belongs to me is my OC *****_

**Chapter One - Before**

**1926, Brooklyn**

"Why can't I play?" She demanded, her voice shrill in its unhappiness. She stamped a foot to further emphasize her question.

"Because you're just a girl," the taller boy replied, pursing his lips in irritation. Winnie stamped her foot again, and the smaller boy, the blond haired one with the soft voice, stepped around his friend. He shot her an uncertain smile, glanced up quickly at his dark-haired companion, and then waved a hand in between them.

"Girls don't like playing boy games, so we thought you wouldn't neither," he explained, raising his eyebrows at her in a way that clearly showed that he hoped that she understood. "My mother says girls can do anything a boy a can!" Winnie shot back indignantly.

Steve Rogers opened his mouth to respond, but as always, his best friend took the lead. He moved past Steve to stand a few steps from Winnie, looking down at her and smirking.

"I never heard of anyone's mother saying that," he said in a mocking voice, "I guess girls can tell a whopper as good as a boy, at least." Winnie's little face scrunched up in sudden anger and she pointed at the taller boy.

"I'm no liar!" She exclaimed loudly. He smiled wider and pushed her pointing finger away from him, before leaning down closer to her and saying in a mean voice, "Well, if you ain't, then I guess your mother is!"

Left speechless by the momentous insult against her dearest and most perfect mother, Winnie gaped at the boy beaming victoriously, her mouth hanging open in almost exaggerated-looking surprise. The boy smiled triumphantly and turned his back on Winnie, clapping an arm around Steve's thin little shoulders.

"Come on Steve, let's go!" He said pleasantly. Steve cast one last, guilt-ridden look back at Winnie, so he managed to flinch out of the way just in time; the girl launched herself at the one who had so badly besmirched her mother's honour, hollering like a banshee.

Steve stumbled back and watched in horror as Winnie, all knobby knees and brown braids, threw herself onto the taller boy's back, both of them tumbling to the ground, her pink dress sailing out behind her.

The boy managed to roll to his back and tried to hold her off but she began to whale on him, yelling, "You take that back Bucky Barnes! My mother _ain't_ a liar! You take it back!"

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Of course, Bucky had taken a beating from his father for that fight, even though he certainly didn't start it, and, almost shamefully, he hadn't finished it either. Winnie fought like a vengeful spirit, punching him and hollering at him, until he found himself forced to call uncle. _If she'd been a boy, then I woulda won for sure,_ he thought to himself later, as he lay on his belly across his bed, resting his sore backside – his Pa's belt had left its mark, to be certain.

A passing adult had come upon the scene and yanked Winnie off him, before pulling Bucky to his feet by his ear, so violently he thought he'd bite his tongue off when his teeth clacked together.

"James Buchanan Barnes! For _shame_!" The woman yelled at him, and he peered up at the intervener, panting and unhappy, to see his next door neighbour, Mrs. Haversham, a round, red faced woman who yelled at her family all the time.

"Why, I _never_!When your Pa finds out you hit a little girl half your size, he'll tan your hide! And rightly so!" Her indignant tones of disbelief rang through the air, and Bucky had looked pleadingly over at Steve for some back-up, only to find his traitorous best friend hovering near Winnie, asking if _she _was ok.

Mrs. Haversham grabbed his ear again and began to yank him away and Bucky began to blabber, "I didn't do nothing! She started it! Aw, please Missus Haversham! I swear it!" She clucked her tongue at him, and pulled him forward.

"In the eyes of God, boy, just listen to the lies sprouting from your mouth!" Her tones were growing yet more horrified and he glanced over his shoulder, his ear pulling smartly in her strong-fingered grasp. Winnie stood next to Steve, both hands planted on her hips, her tongue sticking out like a bright red flag at him. Her face was crinkled with the force of her pulled expression.

Bucky vowed then and there that he was going to hate that horrible little girl forever.

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"Winifred Leigh Johnson!" Her mother hollered in horror, "What _have_ you done to your dress!" Winnie's eyes went wide as she spluttered and stammered and tried to explain, but her mother dragged her upstairs, made her take a bath and get changed, and then sat her to do sums for the rest of afternoon as punishment for brawling in the street like a shameless drunk.

"He called you a liar, Ma!" She cried from her little desk, her schoolbooks on the desktop before her. Her mother stood in the bedroom doorway, her face tired and drawn as she shook her head firmly.

"Winnie," her mother sighed, the sound of exasperation thick in her voice, "You can't go picking fights with people over every little thing!"

"But Ma –"

"No buts," her mother interrupted, "I know I told you that you could do anything any boy did, but I did not mean that you could, or should, lay your hands on someone like that – losing your temper like a little barbarian?" She shook her head at Winnie, her lips pressed together tightly.

"I'm so disappointed in you," her mother said, "Now, do your sums – I'll quiz you on them later. It's far better for you to put your mind to things like schooling, and excel past the boys there, than to jump random hooligans in the street and do what you did!"

Winnie nodded miserably and her mother left the room. Turning back to her books, flopping them open resentfully, she didn't hear her mother's quiet laughter in the hallway, and she didn't see the way her mother smiled and shook her head. Mrs. Johnson was quite amused by her little spitfire of a daughter, but really had no intention of encouraging the behaviour.

No, Winnie missed all that and was left with a burning resentment towards Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers (though, hadn't he been a dear asking if she was ok?), and Mrs. Haversham for breaking them up and getting them all in hot water. She decided the real problem here, the real villain, was the monster who dared to call her saint of a mother a liar: Bucky Barnes.

Winnie just _knew_ that she was going to hate that stupid boy for the rest of her life.

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Steve had never felt more terrible in all of his life. Sitting on the dingy sofa in his small living room, Steve rested his head in his hands and just wallowed in his young guilt. He hadn't defended a girl from a bully, which his mother always told him a boy was honor bound to do. And on the other side of the coin, he hadn't stood by his friend, and defended him from the wild girl _or _from the terrifying Mrs. Haversham.

"What's got you down, Half Pint?" His father asked, his voice unkind. Steve looked up and shrugged uncomfortably, not wanting to get into it with the old man when it was pretty clear he'd been on the hooch for the better part of the day. His father shrugged and leaned back in his chair, listening to the radio.

"If you're just going to mope, then get on out of here, tired of lookin' at that wet mug," his father added, his eyes glaring over at Steve briefly. The boy hopped to his feet and raced into the little kitchen, where his mother was stirring something over the stove.

"Did you have a nice time with Bucky today, dear?" She asked him in a soft voice, not looking back at him.

"Buck got in another fight," Steve answered quietly, staring down at his small, pale hands. 'Girls hands' his dad always said, 'surgeon's hands' his mother would whisper to him softly, to ease the sting. His mother sighed and shook her head. "That boy always had more spark than wisdom," she replied. Steve shrugged.

"Tell me, dear, why does this time bother you?" She asked him, shaking some spices into the pot.

"It was a girl, this time," Steve told her, and she turned around to look at him, her blue eyes large and startled. "Oh that's terrible!" She cried softly, and Steve shrugged one shoulder.

"Bucky was just bein' Bucky and made her mad and she whooped him good," he told his mother, smiling with her briefly when she chuckled at this news.

"Well, I think he needed to get knocked down a peg or two, don't you?" She asked him teasingly. Steve smiled and then pressed his lips together, looking at his hands again. "I didn't help her when he was being mean, and I didn't help him when she was whaling on him!" He finally cried.

His mother smiled and nodded, pleased that they had finally gotten to the crux of what was bothering her boy. She stepped towards him and knelt at this feet, taking his hands in her calloused ones.

"It sounds to me like this girl could take care of herself," his mother said, and Steve nodded. "She was something else!" He told her, his face lighting up for a moment.

"Who was it?" She asked, and he replied, "Winnie Johnson." His mother's eyebrows shot up and she smiled a little smile as she got to her feet and moved back to the stove.

"Isn't she that pretty little girl whose father owns the dress shop?" His mother asked, her tone heavy with affected casualness – Steve didn't know that his mother was more than aware that her son was sweet on the little girl.

Steve nodded and he smiled dreamily, imagining Winnie in her pretty little dresses, always beautifully cut and fit, but constantly stained and ripped from her style of play. He smiled larger remembering the first day he met her and saw her smile, her green eyes sparkling, her dark hair shining like the dark silk in her father's shop.

"I think next time, you can tell Bucky that he's not being a gentleman, that he needs to be sweeter to ladies," his mother instructed, knowing in her heart that Bucky would never turn derision on Steve, or bully him. Steve tipped his chin up and nodded, imagining doing that; Bucky would see the error of his ways, and Winnie would turn her shining eyes to Steve, hands clasped under her little pointed chin, sighing "Oh Steve, my hero!"

Yes, Steve was absolutely certain that he would love that girl forever and ever.

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_**Four years later**_

"Oh Steve? Steve Rogers?" He heard a girl call from behind him and turned to see Winnie Johnson hurrying after him and Bucky as they made their way home from school. She was out of breath when she came to a stop before him, and the bow that had sat so prettily on top of her head that day in school, was now hanging down over an ear.

"Yes?" He responded softly, fighting to keep the shock from his tone. Winnie held him pinned in her bright green-eyed gaze as she shook her head softly. "I am so sorry for your loss, Steve," she told him gently, her face brimming with genuine feeling, "I meant to talk to you today at recess, but I didn't want to make a scene for you."

Steve shuffled his feet uncomfortably, uncertain about how he should respond. His father was not a good man by then end of his life, and his passing was more of a relief for his mother and himself than anything else.

"Thank you," he managed to reply, his tone weak. "I don't know how you did it," she said, walking along with him and Bucky as the three of them began to head in the general direction of their homes again, "I don't think I'd be brave enough to come back outside of my bedroom ever again if Daddy died."

Steve said nothing, only looked over at her, meeting her sincere gaze. He noted that her cheeks were flushed pink from the autumn cold and she was just about his height, which made him feel inadequate. He glanced up quickly at Bucky. His friend looked unusually solemn, his bright blue eyes kind as he looked back at Steve.

Bucky understood, Steve knew he did. Bucky was the only other person in the world who knew all of Steve's secrets, and two of those secrets were that, 1) Steve _wasn't _sad his father died, and 2) he was just about head over heels for Winnie Johnson. Bucky had never quite forgiven the trouncing the girl had given him when they were all in 3rd Grade, but he agreed with Steve that she was pretty enough, for a teacher's pet.

Bucky had no trouble with girls, they all seemed to be sweet on him at some point, even a couple of the girls in 8th Grade made eyes at him. Steve guessed he knew why; Bucky was tall for his age, and handsome, with dark hair and snapping blue eyes. He was well built, strong from his work at the metal yard with his father and brothers, and he always seemed to know just what to say.

Winnie never glanced over at Bucky, Steve noted, although that wasn't actually unusual for her; she always ignored Bucky to the point of acting like he didn't exist. Steve briefly wondered if that was a remnant of their tussle when they were 9 years old, but didn't waste too much time on it, besides feeling relieved that she wasn't following Bucky around with starry eyes like the other girls.

She put one small gloved hand on his arm and squeezed him gently. "Well, I am sorry, Steve," she repeated, "If you and your mother need anything, my Mom said you just let her know." Steve nodded gratefully and Winnie smiled at him and turned down her street, hurrying away towards her house. Steve paused on the corner, Bucky at his side, and watched her go.

"Come on Steve, don't stare," Bucky teased, "She's gonna feel your eyes and think you're a creep!" Steve flushed red and kept walking. "That was nice of her, right?" Steve asked hopefully, his tone hinting at more than his words let on. Bucky stopped him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Steve, you're the greatest guy I know," Bucky told him seriously, "But I'm your best pal and I gotta warn you, I think that came from her ma, not from her." Steve's face fell and he nodded, pulling away from Bucky's hand and walking on.

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Bucky was mad at Winnie all over again, the old hurt from their fight coming back stronger now – he was worried that she was going to break Steve's heart without even realizing it, seeing how she was such a stupid girl. He paused in his thoughts, his dinner fork hovering in front of his mouth.

_Well, she's book smart_, he thought grudgingly, recollecting her high marks and perfect scores in school, _but she's a strange one; no friends, doesn't go out, and doesn't even look at a guy like those other girls!_

He didn't admit that it bothered him terribly that she ignored him so thoroughly, not so much as a hello in the street from that one. Winnie stuck to her grudge like a champ. Bucky knew the other girls liked him, and that used to be enough, but he couldn't stand that this girl not only didn't like him, but that she might actually hate him as well.

_I only care cause of Steve,_ he thought hurriedly, cramming his dinner in faster and faster, _don't want him interested in a girl that's so darn strange, it isn't right._

He decided to right that wrong and shot out of the kitchen as soon as his father excused them all from the table. The sky was darkening already; it was so close to being winter that he could see his breath in the air. Bucky ran fleetly through the familiar maze of streets that he knew led to the Johnson's handsome, three-leveled home. He climbed the front steps and knocked briskly on the front door. Mr. Johnson answered and glared at him for a moment in the pale light of the outdoor lamp.

"Can I help you?" He asked Bucky suspiciously. Bucky sucked in a breath of air and nodded, straightening his spine with his certainty of the rightness of his mission. "I'm here to speak to Winnie for a moment, sir, if I may," Bucky responded, the way his Ma had taught him, respectful and clear, the way a real man would. Mr. Johnson stared at him through narrowed eyes for a moment more, a look of growing unhappiness on his face.

Bucky had an unpleasant moment where he was certain that Mr. Johnson was judging him for his worn hand-me-downs from his three older brothers, or that the man was thinking about just how much less money the Barnes' had in comparison to the Johnsons. Bucky had always imagined that those with money hated those with less of it, simply because they could. However in this case, Mr. Johnson was simply absorbing the implications of this most newest, and unwelcome, of social scenarios: a male caller for his only daughter.

True, Winnie was 13 now, and pretty as a picture, but he had deluded himself into thinking that he had years yet before this sort of thing happened; she was just a little girl after all! But 13 is not as little as he would have liked and James Buchanan Barnes' tall, lanky form in the doorway was a fairly clear wake-up call.

Mr. Johnson shook his head and waved Bucky inside. Bucky sat in the parlour as the man directed him and looked around at all the fine things the Johnsons had, wishing his mother could be here to see it; she loved fine things. A moment later and there was a small sound at the entry to the parlour and Bucky lurched to his feet, turning to it. Winnie stood there, in the same dress she wore to school, but with her dark hair free of its plaits. It hung in shiny waves down her back.

"Bucky?" She asked him, incredulity soaking the one word. He nodded at her and gestured at the sofa across from the one he had been waiting on, like a gentleman would. One dark eyebrow leapt up in concern and bewilderment, but she slowly lowered herself to the seat, regardless.

"What did you mean coming up to Steve like that today?" He blurted out, with no preamble. Winnie blinked at him in surprise and then drew her brow together slightly in confusion. "That's an awfully silly question," she told him. Bucky shook his head. "No it ain't," he replied in a serious tone, "Did you come up because your mother told you to, or because you wanted to?"

Winnie rearranged herself a little in her seat, tossing her hair the slightest bit. "Of course I wanted to!" She answered him, indignantly, "Steve is a nice boy and I've sat two seats away from him in school since I was 4 years old! His father just died and the respectable thing to do is let someone know how sorry you are!" Bucky leaned back a bit in his seat, feeling slightly shamed, but he remembered how terrible she'd been when they were younger and made a face at her.

"I had to wonder," he told her easily, "Seein' as it's you and all."

"What does that mean?" She asked him angrily, resting her hands on her knees and gripping at handfuls of fabric there. Bucky shrugged and replied, "Well, I had to know if you were bein' cruel to him because of me." Winnie blushed a little and looked away. Seeing an opening, Bucky leaned forward in his seat.

"Do you still hate me?" He asked her. She looked up at him, the blush still spread across her cheeks. "I don't think that it's right for anyone to hate anybody else," she answered him. He made a face, mulling over her words. "Does that mean yes or no?" He asked, persisting with his question.

"Do you still think my mother is a liar?" She shot back, straightening her shoulders. Bucky glanced over at the entryway to the parlour, wondering if Mrs. Johnson could hear them. He felt shame wash over him at the thought. "Naw, of course I don't," he told her, the embarrassment palpable in his tone. She smiled and took a deep breath, nodding. He thought she looked relieved.

"Then, no, Bucky, I don't hate you," she said, "And I've never hated Steve Rogers, he's the nicest person I've ever met, I don't know that a person _could_ hate him." Bucky smiled at her then, pleased with her assessment of his best friend.

They were both silent for a few long moments before Bucky spoke, "So you've been ignoring me all this time because you thought I still thought your Ma was a liar?" Winnie nodded and pressed her lips together, her expression slightly rueful.

"I never did think that," he explained further, enjoying her ensuing smile being directed at him instead of around him for once, "I was just trying to get your goat." She laughed a little and waved a hand at him. "You got my goat alright!" She said teasingly, pretending to box the air in front of herself. Even Bucky had to laugh.

"Think it's a shame though," she told him when their laughter died down, "The three of us could have been good pals, I just know it." Bucky nodded at her.

"Yeah, or you could've been some good protection from other creeps out there!" He responded, one eyebrow raised teasingly. She giggled and nodded. There was a silence for a moment. "Me and Steve are going to the pictures tomorrow," Bucky told her, "Want to join us? We'll probably grab a Coke after." Winnie smiled at him, her eyes caught up in it, sparkling and wide. For the first time, he felt a little flutter of something in his chest.

"That just keen, Bucky, I'd like to," she replied.

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After Bucky left, Winnie leaned her back against their front door and felt her heart thundering along inside her chest. She'd never been more surprised in her entire life than when her father had told that she had a caller. Walking into the parlour and seeing Bucky Barnes sitting awkwardly on her mother's fancy horsehair sofa threw her right into a tizzy. A million thoughts rushed through her head, but nothing could have surprised her more than when Bucky asked about her intentions with Steve earlier that day.

She'd known Steve as a fellow classroom comrade forever, so she'd seen it as only natural to extend her best wishes and condolences. It made her feel squiggly inside when she realized that Bucky likely hated her so much that he assumed she was being mean to Steve somehow.

_And now I'm going to the pictures with them_, she thought wonderingly, _just like a couple of regular pals._ She shook her head and made her way up the stairs to her bedroom. Closing her door behind herself, Winnie stared at her school books, at the mountain of studying and lessons she had set for herself for the evening. She had truly taken her mother's words to heart four years ago; if she couldn't fight out her problems, then she was going to surpass every boy in school with her brain.

Winnie kicked off her shoes and curled her legs beneath herself as she sat on her bed, schoolwork forgotten for now. Of course, all the studying, all the homework, all the extra lessons – these things had not made her popular, and had not kept her gaggle of girlfriends close about herself. She'd enjoyed a measure of popularity amongst her peers until she decided to put her nose deep into her books.

Every time she heard about a slumber party, or birthday dinner, a trip to the pictures, or a skating party at the rink, she would weaken for a moment or two, before the image of Bucky's mocking face entered her mind and made her grit her teeth and push through it. She didn't have a definitive reason for why he motivated her to work harder; if she stopped to really think about it, her only reasoning usually sounded something like "I'll show him." And thus, she'd grown her knowledge plenty, while shrinking her social life and losing all her friends.

"Looks like I've got two pals now," she said softly to herself, a smile growing on her face.

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_**Four Years Later**_

"It's the very last year!" Bucky crowed, throwing one arm around Steve's shoulder, and the other around Winnie's, "No more pencils, no more books, no more teacher's dirty looks!" Steve laughed and Winnie sighed a little.

"Why so glum, chum?" Bucky asked, dropping his arms and stepping around them both to walk backwards in front of them. Winnie couldn't help but laugh at him and glanced over at Steve. "It's going to be so strange, don't you think?" She asked them both, "After this year, everything changes – I'm going to college, Steve you'll probably go too, and Bucky…" She trailed off and smirked at Bucky.

"Well, I'm sure you'll find something to do!" Winnie teased him. Bucky rolled his eyes and spun about, dropping back to walk in between the two of them. "I can't wait," Bucky responded, "Even getting up for work every day will be better than this!" He swung his book bag ahead of himself. "At the end of a day at work, I can leave it all behind, won't be any kind of extra nonsense at home," he explained.

Winnie nodded and gazed ahead at the sidewalk in front of them. The first few blocks from the school were always thronged with their peers at the beginning of a school day, and today was no different. "Say, Buck, isn't that Jane Wilcox up ahead?" Steve asked, his tone laced with meaning. Bucky looked in the direction Steve gestured and his whole posture changed. Winnie laughed to see it – he switched from their carefree friend to a regular leading man in a matter of seconds.

"Sure is," he replied, reaching up to straighten his collar, "I'll see you two later." He winked at Steve and tweaked the end of Winnie's long braid, which hung in a thick plait over her shoulder, before bounding down the street, approaching the gaggle of young women that the girl in question walked with.

"He sure is confident," Steve murmured, stepping closer to Winnie. She laughed and waved a forgiving hand in Bucky's direction. "He's Bucky, of course he is," she told him, one side of her mouth quirked up. Steve chuckled a little and they were both quiet as they walked. It was one of the things that Winnie like best about Steve, he was very easy to be around. He was smart enough to talk about just about anything, but silences with him were comfortable and spoke to the general coziness of their friendship.

Bucky was easy to be around as well. His boisterous nature, and near-constant desire to have a good time meant that conversation never suffered and they always had options for things to do and places to go. _Helps that he's easy on the eyes, too,_ her inner voice couldn't resist piping in with.

Winnie shook her head briskly and the movement caught Steve's attention. "Something the matter?" He asked her and she smiled over at him. "No, no, just silly thoughts," she told him. He nodded twice and they turned the final corner on the approach to school together.

"So, I was wondering, Winnie," Steve began, his voice tense and halting, "Are you busy this evening?" Winnie glanced over at him, frowning a little before answering. "I doubt there's going to be much homework, seeing that it's the first day of school," she replied slowly, "Why? Did Bucky come up with something? Cause if he did, I think he'll be cancelling before long." She pointed up ahead to where Bucky and Jane Wilcox were walking hand in hand, his dark head dipped down to speak close to Jane's blonde one.

"No, no," Steve stammered, "I was thinking you and I could go to dinner together, maybe go to the pictures afterwards?" Winnie opened her mouth to respond, thinking nothing unusual of his request, when a loud voice called her name from behind them.

"Winnie! Winnie Johnson! Well, look at you kid!" She turned to see Blair, a boy from her advanced classes, jogging up towards them. She blushed without wanting to at the warm smile on his face and nodded at him. "Nice to see you, too, Blair," she responded, smiling shyly.

Blair stepped into the space between her and Steve, causing Steve to take several steps to the side, walking almost in the grass. "Can I walk you the rest of the way?" Blair asked her, his dark eyes flashing at her. She smiled stupidly up into his handsome face, stammering in nervousness. _He's so handsome! And so smart! _Her inner voice squealed excitedly.

"Why, that would be great, Blair, thank you, we'd love for you to join us, right Steve?" She replied happily, looking past Blair for Steve. But her friend was gone. She looked behind them and realized that Steve had veered off the sidewalk and was cutting through the fields towards school, moving at a quick clip. He turned back and waved at her and she absent-mindedly waved back, smiling even though she knew he was too far away to see it.

"Gee Win, you're just a dish in green," Blair said, capturing her attention again. Winnie blushed furiously at the compliment and glanced down at her kelly green dress. She felt a wash of gratitude that her father had the dress shop; she'd always been well dressed in the newest styles and the latest colors and fashions, but it hadn't meant a lick to her until right this moment. She thought back to a film she'd seen recently, where the heroine was so confident and easy-going around her suitors, and thought she'd try out a line.

"Oh this old thing? Why, I never even thought! Aren't you sweet?" She quoted directly from the movie and it seemed to work, Blair's smile grew hugely. "Say, there's going to be a party at Gene McGuire's tonight, would you go with me?" He asked her smoothly, a charming smile on the heels of his words. Clutching her books against chest with both arms, Winnie nodded, all thoughts of dinner and a show with Steve having flown her mind.

_Your first date!_

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Steve forced thoughts of Winnie and Blair from his mind, trying not to picture how prettily she had smiled at the other boy, or the easy way Blair had about him, smoothly inserting himself between the two of them, edging Steve out with little to no effort. All through every class that day, he found himself hardly able to focus on the lessons, as he instead spent most of his energy trying not to focus on Winnie.

The two of them shared most classes together, as they each took advanced classes in almost all their academic subjects. This year though, it seemed their plan of trying to get seats across the aisle from each other was not going to happen. Blair had taken up that spot, and all of Winnie's attention, in almost every single class.

Steve told himself to be happy for her, he knew that she had never dated, and didn't seem to expect to. He and Bucky had discussed several times over the last couple of years why that was, because they both agreed that she was certainly one of the prettiest girls in school.

"I think it's because each and every time she opens her mouth and talks, all you can hear is an old wet hen," Bucky had joked the last time they had discussed her, earlier this summer. Steve had laughed weakly, not at an insult, but at what he knew Bucky was trying to say. Winnie was smart, exceedingly so, and enjoyed above all else, lively discourse on the topics that intrigued her, books she had read, news articles she had seen and devoured, and topics she overheard her father and his fellow businessmen discussing at their meetings.

He knew this kind of intellect was not something that most people their age cared for, in either a friend or a girlfriend, but to him it was just part of Winnie. That she and Bucky seemed to be equally as close as she and Steve, baffled him at times. They got along like a house on fire though, with plenty of banter and joking on all sides. Winnie loved to talk academia, but she also loved to laugh, and Bucky could make the Pope laugh, she always said. Steve loved her laugh.

When the school bell rang, signalling the end of their last class, he was shaken from his reverie and took the chance to talk with Winnie before she entered the hallway. "About what I was asking you earlier," he began, deciding to put up a fight and see if he could take her out before Blair whisked her away, "Are you –"

Winnie was smiling hugely, her cheeks flushed, and she interrupted him, grabbing his hands in hers. "Oh Steve, wouldn't you know! Blair asked me to a party tonight!" She cried, her excitement evident. "Did you say yes?" He asked her, his tone forced. She nodded exuberantly and pulled away from him, twirling twice across the front of the classroom.

"I can't believe I have a date! Mother will have to let me wear my new party dress, and perhaps she'll help style my hair!" Winnie said dreamily. Steve nodded dejectedly before an idea came to him. "Will your parents even let you go? Your father seems awful strict about things like this," he offered, trying not to sound pleased. Winnie danced over to him, her smile huge.

"No! Bucky's going with Jane as well and he agreed to tell my father it's a double date and he'll watch out for me!" If Winnie was over the moon, Steve was so far beneath it he couldn't tell you what a moon was. He knew her father would certainly let her go if Bucky was going to be there. After harboring several misgivings at the beginning of the trio's friendship, Mr. Johnson had relaxed and accepted the two boys as Winnie's best chums. He deemed Steve to be harmless, and Bucky too stupid to be any kind of romantic interest for his bright girl, and had given the trio his blessing.

This had thankfully led to many wonderful years of friendship for them, making the three of them nearly inseparable. Life was moving on though, it seemed, and Steve was suddenly aware that he might be left behind. The thought left him so down that he couldn't stand to look at her smile a moment longer.

"Have a wonderful time," he told her quietly, before slipping out the classroom door and dashing down the hallway. He ran all the way home, straight to his front gate, where he nearly collapsed from fatigue, his lungs aching and wheezing as he tried to catch his breath. He slowly opened the front gate of his apartment building and made his way up the three flights of stairs to the stained door to his and his mother's unit.

"Mother? I'm home!" He called, stepping into the kitchen, expecting heat, and the smell of dinner cooking to greet him. But there was nothing. The kitchen was dark and cool, the counters and stove top bare and clean. _How strange_, he thought, a small bubble of worry sprouting in the pit of his stomach.

"Mother? Mom?" He called, dropping his book bag on the table and walking into the living room. Everything was still and dark in there, and he walked down the short hallway to his mother's bedroom door, which was closed. Serious misgiving had begun to grow inside of him and he was certain he didn't want to open the door.

He knocked carefully and there was no response. "Mother?" He called softly, knocking again, much more forcefully this time. There was still no response and, closing his eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, Steve pushed the door open and found his mother, sprawled across the floor, still in the dressing gown and slippers she'd had on while making him breakfast this morning.

"Mother!" He cried loudly, racing to her and dropping to his knees next to her. He rolled her carefully to her back and knew at once that she was gone. "Oh Mom, oh no," Steve whispered.

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Bucky arrived with Jane at Winnie's front door at 6pm, knocking smartly. Mrs. Johnson answered with a smile. "Why James! Look at you, don't you look smart?" She exclaimed happily, waving him and Jane inside. After introductions were exchanged, they waited in the parlour for Winnie. "She'll be down any minute, just doing some last minute primping, I imagine," Mrs. Johnson told them playfully.

"Mother!" Winnie cried from the doorway, blushing at her mother's words. Bucky looked up and to him it seemed that the world stood still for a moment. Winnie no longer looked like a pretty little school girl, she was every inch a lovely young woman. Her dress was a chocolate brown with a light green floral pattern speckled across it; the brown made her hair, which hung in thick waves, look polished and rich, while the green pattern set off her eyes, which fairly glowed in excitement and good humour.

The cut of the dress, and its length, showed off more of her figure than he had ever seen before, and Bucky found that blonde Jane, in her risqué dress which dipped in the back _and_ in the front, looked like she was trying too hard to be glamorous.

"Wow, Winnie," Bucky said, climbing to his feet to greet her, "Don't you clean up well?" She smirked a little at him and glanced over at the clock on the table next to the sofa. "He'll be here," her mother soothed quietly. He watched Mrs. Johnson adjust the collar on Winnie's dress, smoothing down her daughter's hair in the process, and he couldn't take his eyes off his friend. He wanted to mentally absorb all of her, to really drink in the way she looked, which to him was nothing short of amazing.

Bucky felt a tug at his arm and looked down at his date, and Jane seemed irritated. He sat down next to her and leaned in to hear her hissed words.

"If you stare any harder, you're likely to bore a hole right through her!" Jane's tone was pettish, and it was easy to surmise that she was jealous. He smiled charmingly at her. "Win's my friend, doll," he told her in a placating voice, "I'm happy to see her happy. Of course no girl can hold a candle to you." Jane smiled in satisfaction and plumped at her hair for a moment, a move he knew all the girls did because the ladies in Hollywood were forever doing the same thing in all the films he'd seen.

There was a knock at the door and Blair was led in, where he did an amusing double take at his date. Winnie was blushing like mad under his compliments and soon the quartet was out the door and making their way to the McGuire party. It was a roaring gathering once they got there, and Bucky soon lost Winnie and Blair in the crowd. He thought it was probably better that way. Tomorrow Winnie would be Winnie again, and he could go back to being her friend. Tonight she looked too good, he wanted to keep his distance.

Even though she was here with a date, Bucky couldn't help but feel like she was Steve's to be wooed, and he didn't intend to do anything that might hurt his friend. Sitting with a glass of hooch in his hand, smoking a cigarette and listening to Jane laugh, Bucky felt bad that Steve was home alone tonight. He'd meant to catch up with him after school today, but never had the chance.

_I'll have to see him tomorrow,_ he thought, _maybe the three of us could grab a Coke together._ He smiled warmly at the mental image of the three of them, chatting and laughing so comfortably and easily with each other; he really couldn't imagine life without the two of them.

"Would you look at that?" Jane said loudly, her voice mean and slurred from the booze, "Little Miss Prissy is just as bad as the rest of us!" She and her friends dissolved into giggles, and Bucky looked up quickly, scanning the crowded room. He saw Winnie, walking unevenly, her hand clasped tightly in Blair's, as he towed her firmly across the room. _Towards the bedroom_, Bucky thought in concern.

He wanted to go stop them, but realized that wasn't his place; if Winnie wanted to, well, it was her choice. His eyes never left them though, and he saw Blair push open a door, the room black behind it, and watched as Winnie balked, seeming to understand just at that moment what Blair's intention was. Bucky rose to his feet when he saw Winnie pull back, her arm stretching as she attempted to yank it from Blair's tightened grasp.

Blair's brow drew down and, almost hidden from sight behind the crush of milling bodies in the room, he reached out his other hand, snagged Winnie around the waist, and pulled her sharply into the black room. Just before the door was shut, Bucky caught a glimpse of her face, her cheeks flushed and her eyes panicked. Without a second thought he charged across the room, shoving people out of his way. He had just reached the door, his hand wrapped around the handle, when he heard Winnie cry angrily, "I said _no!_" There was a loud smashing and Bucky threw the door open, terrified he might find her hurt.

Instead, he found Blair laying across the bed, a lamp shattered on the bedspread around him, a small cut on his forehead. Winnie was still holding the base of the lamp in her hand and was panting. Her eyes shot to Bucky when he charged into the room and she sagged in relief.

Dropping the piece of lamp, she walked over to him unsteadily. "I said no," she explained and Bucky opened and closed his mouth, trying to figure out what to say. "Was the lamp your only option?" He asked her and she shrugged. "He wasn't taking no for an answer and I decided it was time to end our date," Winnie told him. Bucky nodded, slipped her hand through his arm and they left the party together.

"Thanks for trying to rescue me," she offered, as they wandered down the street towards her house. Bucky laughed a little and then stopped, just outside the puddle of light on the ground that a streetlamp provided. He turned her to face him and held her shoulders in each of his hands.

"Are you really ok?" He asked her, the concern written all over his face seeming to make it through the light haze she was in, from the alcohol Blair had convinced her to try. Winnie nodded and smiled at him. "I know how to handle a bully," she reminded him. Bucky couldn't stop the smile spreading across his face and then released her shoulders, slinging an arm across her back as they continued towards her house.

"Mrs. Rogers told Steve that you're the kind of girl who can handle herself," he said lightly, "Looks like she was right." Winnie and he laughed together and Bucky felt everything sliding back to the way it used to be. When they reached her house, he walked her up the front steps and they paused in front of the door. She was reaching for her front door when her hand paused and pulled back.

"Bucky!" She cried in a loud whisper, "I've been drinking! My parents will know!" She spun to him and he couldn't help but laugh at the dismay on her face. "Will they? Can you tell?" She demanded, her hand clamping down on his arm and shaking him. Bucky brought a hand up and placed it on top of hers, pulling it gently from the grip she had on his bicep and holding it in his own.

"Winnie," he began, "They definitely will, your breath stinks." She clapped a hand over her mouth and dissolved into giggles behind it. In the dim light of the porch, he saw the striking young woman he'd first seen at the beginning of the night; beautiful, carefree, laughing. He acted without thinking, bending down to her face and planting a kiss right on her laughing mouth.

Winnie froze stock still and didn't respond, and suddenly Bucky sprang backwards, aware that after her miserable failure of a date with that idiot Blair, his dropping an uninvited kiss was likely not wise. Bucky stepped back, his eyes darting around quickly to see what she might grab from nearby to use as a weapon to smack him over the head. She didn't move though, she just held her fingers lightly to her mouth and said, "Oh."

She surprised him when, this time, she stepped towards him, placing both hands on his shoulders and tilting her face up to him. "Kiss me again," she told him, her voice soft. So he did. They stood, gently twined together in a soft kiss for a few long, wonderful moments until they heard the sound of someone at the other side of the door. They launched away from each other, moving into exaggerated stances of casual apartness when Mrs. Johnson pulled the door open.

"Hi Mother! I'm home early! Bucky walked me home, I'm off to bed!" Winnie said over-loudly. Her mother didn't reply and that was when they both realized that she was fully dressed, with her coat, hat, and gloves on. "Oh darling," her mother said sadly, "There's been a terrible tragedy." Bucky blinked at her, not expecting this situation and entirely unsure as to how to react.

"Steve called for you and I spoke with him. I was just on my way to the hospital now," her mother explained, "Steve's mother passed away today."

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Winnie had never felt so unbearably terrible in her entire life. Steve's mother had been a kind woman, over-worked and tired all the time, but the best kind of mother for a boy like Steve; never an unkind word passed her lips towards her only child.

Bucky had taken a ride with her and her mother to the hospital where, her mother explained, Mrs. Rogers had been taken by ambulance and Steve was waiting alone. "Your mother will be on her way shortly, James," Mrs. Johnson told him, "Steve will be coming home with you tonight." Winnie gave her mother a grateful smile for stepping in and taking care of this. Sitting next to Winnie in the back seat, Bucky didn't say a word.

She looked over at him repeatedly, wanting desperately to know what he was thinking. In the face of such loss, she knew that the two of them had better forget what happened, had better never speak about their kiss ever again, least of all to Steve. She knew that once upon a time Steve had been sweet on her, and she wasn't sure about now. A gut feeling told her that he wouldn't be happy either way, and sparing poor Steve further pain was the only path she would take.

Her mother snapped on the radio, and soon light music filled the car. A quick glance up front allowed Winnie to catch her mother's eyes in the mirror, and she knew that she and Bucky were being given a little privacy. Shifting closer to him, Winnie put a light hand on his arm.

"Buck, we need to settle this before we see Steve," she whispered. He turned to her quickly, his eyes wide, but his other features tight with unhappiness. "I'm just about the worst friend a guy could have," Bucky said sadly. Winnie squeezed his arm and shook her head.

"That's not true! You're like a brother to Steve and he's going to need you!" Winnie insisted, "But you can't ever mention this to him." Bucky's eyes narrowed a little bit and he tilted his head to one side as he regarded her. "Why? I think you're right, but I want to know why you think that," he responded quickly. She stared at him for a moment, trying to focus her thoughts, and finding it difficult through the lingering effects of the alcohol. _Oh, how unpleasant,_ she thought to herself, feeling a headache coming on.

"I know there was a time when Steve was sweet on me, before we were all friends, and I don't want to hurt him now with this," Winnie explained softly, "Oh Bucky, can't we go back to how we used to be?" Bucky nodded solemnly and Winnie felt saddened for another reason. Her mother pulled into the hospital parking lot and climbed from the car, leaving the two of them alone for a moment.

Winnie turned and reached for the handle of the car door, when Bucky grabbed her arm, pulling her back to him and holding her up against his chest for a moment. He kissed her, softly and firmly, and Winnie kissed him back. "One for the road," he said, when they pulled apart, "And that's the end of it." Winnie nodded and Bucky flashed her a subdued version of his charming smile.

"Let's go take care of Steve," she replied.

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He held his head in his hands, and pressed on his eyes, hoping that if he just kept pressing down he could hold back any embarrassing tears. _Don't cry in public, _he urged himself, _wait at least until you're home again._ Home. There was no one there now. His mind fairly whirled as he thought about everything that would need to be done there. Everything from the small (_there's laundry on the line and groceries need to be bought_), to the large (_do I have to pay for an ambulance? How do I order a funeral? Where did Mom bank?)_, raced through his head.

"Steve!" He heard Winnie's voice and saw her dashing down the hallway towards him in her party shoes. He was momentarily distracted from his sadness and his worry as he took in the way she looked tonight. He saw behind her, Bucky, charging towards him, stoic and resolute, and behind them, Mrs. Johnson, already at the nurse's station, talking with the women there. Steve climbed to his feet, nearly hunched over, the weight of his grief, worry, and confusion resting unpleasantly on his shoulders.

Winnie collided with him abruptly, wrapping her arms all the way around him and pulling his weary head to her shoulder. She hugged him fiercely and tightly. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Steve," Winnie mumbled into his hair. Another set of arms wrapped around him, enclosing Winnie in the second hug as well, and Steve glanced up at Bucky, pleased beyond measure to have these two here with him right now.

Over the next hour, he sat on the hard chair outside the room where his mother had been pronounced dead from a heart attack. Winnie sat crushed up to one side of him, and Bucky on the other. Bucky's heavy arm sat across Steve's shoulders and Winnie had both of Steve's hands tightly clasped in her own. Mrs. Johnson was taking care of everything. Her husband arrived nearly 15 minutes after they had, with Mr. and Mrs. Barnes. He had driven separately to pick them up and give them a lift.

"Let them handle this," Winnie murmured to him when he made to go join them when it became apparent they were signing forms and checks. "Win, I can't let them pay –", he began, embarrassment flushing his face. Winnie squeezed his hands, her face so close to his it was making his stomach tilt.

"You can and you will," she insisted, "My father wouldn't dream of it being any other way." Steve finally relented and they sat mutely together. Steve watched as doctors came and went, bills were paid, forms were signed, a little parcel was handed to Mrs. Johnson and he realized it was his mother's effects. Soon it seemed like it was time to go. They climbed to their feet and followed the adults out, Winnie and Bucky still bracketing him in between themselves, almost as if to shield him from the world. At the cars, they parted.

"You go with Buck now," Winnie whispered to Steve, her eyes huge in the mostly dark parking lot. Steve nodded briefly and watched as her face grew limpid with sadness for him. "I'll see you first thing in the morning, I swear it," she promised him, "I'm so sorry Steve." He swallowed hard and then nearly fell over when Winnie leaned in the last few inches and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. Her eyes darted briefly up to Bucky before she spun on her heel and followed her mother to the car, climbing in and driving away.

"Come on, Steve, you'll come home with us tonight," Mrs. Barnes said pleasantly. Steve nodded, feeling like a mannequin. Bucky stayed by his side and ushered him in to the backseat of Mr. Johnson's car. He listened, only half aware, as Mr. Johnson and Mr. Barnes discussed the funeral home and the service. "No family," he saw Mr. Barnes' lips form the words, but couldn't hear them, "All alone."

Mrs. Barnes was patting his knee reassuringly, her round motherly face staring at him endlessly, evaluating him in the way he knew only a mother could. Bucky, on his other side didn't seem about to let Steve go, keeping his arm across Steve's shoulders, as if to anchor him.

_Maybe not entirely alone,_ he thought to himself.

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The next morning, Winnie was woken up by her mother. "Darling, I'm going over to Steve's house," her mother said softly. Winnie scrubbed the sleep from her eyes and really looked at her mother, realizing she was wearing a housedress and had her hair up in a scarf.

"What? Why?" Winnie managed to get out, yawning as she swung her legs out of bed.

"We're cleaning it top to bottom, and packing up as many of her things as we can," her mother explained. Winnie went to her closet and began to pull out her clothes, marvelling at her mother. Somehow between late last night and early this morning, she just knew her mother had assembled a battalion of her friends to descend up Steve's little apartment. _He's going to have so many casseroles_, she thought groggily.

"Where a sensible dress, dear," her mother urged her, "You need to go with Steve when he and your father and the Barnes' go to the funeral home." Winnie swallowed hard at that, feeling her features crumple together a little in sadness. Her mother gently led her back to her bed and made her sit down.

"Get it all out now, darling," her mother said softly and kindly, "Steve needs you to be strong for him." Winnie nodded miserably and allowed herself to cry for her friend, and his loss, and to cry for his mother, a wonderful woman. Her mother pulled out the clothing she wanted Winnie to wear that day, a plain grey dress, a little longer than was fashionable, with a black jacket over top.

"It's not even the funeral yet," Winnie commented, gesturing weakly at the clothes laid out next to her on the bed. Her mother grasped Winnie's chin gently in her hand, turning her daughter's face up to hers. "You don't just mourn in the church or at the cemetery, dear," her mother explained.

With a kiss, her mother was gone and Winnie was left to ready herself. As she performed her morning toilette and dressed herself, Winnie thought back to last night, to Steve's sadness, his poor weary face, drawn and pale in the murky lighting of the hospital hallways.

Her mind wandered further as she attached the slim white belt that went with the dress, securing the hooks as she imagined Bucky's kisses. Her hands went to her mouth and she held her fingers there. As far as first kisses went, these were wonderful, although their timing certainly left much to be desired. Winnie stepped to her dressing table and sat down, running her brush over her hair again and again. She was hopelessly unfocused, her mind and heart swinging wildly from pure elation at how wonderful her brief time with Bucky had been last night, to crushing sadness at how destroyed Steve was like to be at the end of all this.

Swinging her long hair up into a horse's tail, she secured it with a black ribbon and left her room. Her house was oddly empty when she got down there, her mother having already bustled out the door to go scrub and clean at the Rogers', and her father at the shop, like he was most days. There were muffins left on the kitchen table, dozens of them, tucked into a basket with a note from her mother on top of them.

'Take these to the Barnes' please, Winnie'

Winnie nodded at the note and picked up the basket. She began the walk to the Barnes', the heavy basket in her hands, and continued the process of being torn neatly on two: one half desperate to help Steve, to be the good friend he needed, the other half wondering what it would be like to kiss Bucky Barnes when she was stone sober.

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A relative was found in amongst Mrs. Rogers' things and a telegram was sent quickly. Though they had scrubbed and cleaned his home top to bottom, Steve was not allowed to return home yet. Mrs. Barnes had a look of such determination on her face as she told him he was staying with them and there were no two ways about it; he dared not disobey. The woman had raised all four Barnes boys, so he knew she had to be fierce.

Winnie and Bucky stayed each day with him, reading or listening to the radio around the Barnes living room, or in the library at the Johnson house. They walked and chatted quietly, and mostly just kept each other company. Bucky seemed to enjoy the week long break from school, but Winnie was intensely worried about her and Steve falling behind in their lessons, so she made them spend a few hours each day cramming.

Steve didn't mind the distraction, and certainly didn't mind the company.

The relative responded and expressed condolences on Mrs. Rogers' death but made it clear nothing more than that would be forthcoming. "They're worried about you, where you'll live," Winnie whispered to him one day over dinner. The Johnsons had the three of them over this evening, giving Mrs. Barnes and her pantry a break from the extra stomachs.

"Why, I'd stay at home, wouldn't I?" He replied in astonishment. Winnie shook her head and then shrugged. "I've listened to them talking, and they don't think you'll get on alone, they're worried that 17 is too young for you to be all alone," she explained kindly. Steve nodded, certain his mother would have agreed, but further determined that he would neither become a burden on his friend's families, nor would he be moving away to stay at an obscure relative's home.

"I won't go away," he said firmly, and Bucky clapped him on the back. "Darn straight you won't," Bucky replied, his tone a forced kind of cheerfulness. Steve noticed Winnie and Bucky sharing another significant look and wished they would stop doing that. He knew they were both on the same mission: Keep Steve Happy.

At the funeral, it became apparent immediately that his mother hadn't much in the way of friends. The front row of the church was reserved for family, and Steve realized how absurd it was when he sat up there alone for the first few minutes. Bucky and his brothers were the pallbearers, so Winnie darted through the small side aisles to slide up next to Steve, wrapping her arm around him, clutching at his shoulder as if he might try to flee. Bucky joined them soon afterwards and the three of them stayed together the entire service, until it was time to head to the cemetery.

Winnie walked down the aisle of the church hand in hand with Steve. He looked over at her as they followed his mother's exiting casket and she squeezed his hand tightly, giving him a small, encouraging, smile.

It was sunny that day, and Steve felt that was only right; his mother loved the sunshine. After everything, the three of them decided to walk back to the Barnes residence, but Bucky paused at the corner of his street and instead looked down at Steve, an unusual serious expression on his face.

"They say you can go home today, if you really want to, thought I expect you'll be pestered by our mothers plenty when you're there," Bucky told him. Steve smiled, delighted that he could go home, and delighted that he would no longer feel like a burden. He glanced over at Winnie who was watching him with a serious expression on her face.

"I would really like that," Steve told them, "I think I'm ready to be home again." The trio headed to the apartment complex Steve had lived in his entire life and made their way through the gates and up the stairs.

"There's always a mattress at my place with your name on it, Steve," Bucky told him, watching as Steve searched his pockets for his door key. Steve grew flustered from his search and Winnie stooped quickly and slid out the spare hidden under a cinderblock, handing it to him, pressing it into his hand and holding it there.

"You'll always be welcome in our spare bedroom, as well, Mother said so," she told him. Steve took the key from her and unlocked the door.

"I appreciate it, but I want to be on my own now, I can take care of myself," Steve explained, not wanting to have to say aloud that he needed to be alone so he could feel every emotion he needed to without worry of other's watching.

"We just want you to know we're there for you," Winnie told him, her eyes soft and sad. She grabbed his hands in both of hers and Bucky closed his hands over top of theirs, looking Steve in the eyes.

"Yeah, right up to the end of the line," Bucky told him. Winnie smiled and nodded, repeating, "Until the end of the line." Steve watched them both and felt luckier than a fellow in his shoes had any right to be.

"The end of the line," he echoed.


	2. Chapter 2 - The War

_**Chapter 2 – The War**_

_**Manhattan – 1942**_

"Winnie! The phone's for you!" A voice called to her from the hallway and Winnie sighed, lifting her sore feet from the bucket of ice water they'd been resting in. "Coming!" She called out, in the general direction of her apartment door. As she eased herself up and into her slippers, she tried to console herself that at least she had access to a phone, even if she did share it with the ten other women sharing this floor; she worked with girls who didn't have any access at all and it sounded terrible.

Her day at work had seemed longer than usual today and she knew it was because she was dying for the weekend to come. She was going to go home this weekend, for a visit with her mother, and she couldn't wait. One of the reasons why she couldn't wait was now on the other end of the phone.

"Winnie! How's it going kid?" The voice on the other end of the line made her weary face slip immediately into a huge grin. "Oh Bucky! Does this mean you're actually home?" Her voice carried happily and more than one feminine head popped out of its apartment to smile knowingly at her. Winnie rolled her eyes and turned her back on them all.

"For a little while, yes! Steve said you'd be back this weekend?" Bucky's voice sounded close enough that she wanted to reach out and touch his face.

"I will, I'll be at Mother's by 5," Winnie told him, "Won't you stop by? I need to see for myself that you're in one piece!" Bucky chuckled and his laugh made her grin nearly break her face, it had been almost 9 months since she'd heard his voice. She and Steve frequently lamented the amount of time between his breezy, cheerful letters, but neither of them had the guts to talk about the excruciating wait between phone calls, though she knew for a fact they bothered Steve almost as much as they did her.

"You bet I will, but I'll be alone; Steve's going to be working. We three can pal around together on Saturday, if that suits you as well?" Bucky asked her. Winnie shook her head, wondering why he even needed to bother to ask, he should have known the answer would be yes.

"That's a silly question, of course I will," she replied, her tone playful. After a few more laughs, they each reluctantly parted ways and she slunk back into her apartment before anyone could corner her for information, throwing herself back onto her bed. It turned out a closed door wasn't enough. Her across-the-hall neighbor came bursting through her door moments later.

"Why, hello Mirabel dear, do come in," Winnie said in a flat voice, not raising her head from the pillow she had flopped her head onto. Mirabel didn't seem to notice and came quickly over to the bed, tossing herself down next to Winnie.

"Which one was it?" Mirabel asked and Winnie shook her head in exasperation. "It's none of your beeswax Mirabel," Winnie replied smartly, turning her head on the pillow to eye up her annoying friend. Mirabel simpered at her for a moment before bouncing up and snatching the three pictures in their frames that Winnie left up with the one picture of her parents she had.

"Oh put those back, will you?" Winnie said in wearied tones. Mirabel smirked, one blonde eyebrow shooting up, before lifting the first picture up, one of Winnie and Steve taken at Steve's college graduation, five years ago. "Was it him? Hmmm," Mirabel lifted the frame closer to her face, scrutinizing Steve, "He's awful wimpy lookin' Win, but he's got a cute enough mug, I suppose."

Winnie snatched the picture up and tucked it onto her nightstand, glaring hard at Mirabel, prepared to rip a strip off the blonde for daring to say anything about Steve. Mirabel sensed it and held a hand up. "No offense, Win, I'm sure he's a sweetheart, but with so few men around these days, can you blame me for being picky?" Mirabel placated and Winnie rolled her eyes, getting up and moving her bucket of now room temperature water into the tiny bathroom.

Her feet were swollen and painful and the bucket became an almost daily requirement – standing all day long, for nearly 10 hours a day, at the hydraulic press she worked in the nearby munitions factory, left her aching head to toe, but her feet paid the real price. All the girls on this floor worked in a similar way, so at least she wasn't footing the bill for the ice alone – you could get an awful lot of ice delivered if you were splitting it ten ways.

As Winnie dumped the bucket out in the sink, she could hear Mirabel let out a decidedly unfeminine whistle and knew what picture she was looking at. Right before Bucky shipped out, two years ago, she and he had enjoyed a night out on Coney Island. Steve had been working, unable to get the night off to join them, so they found themselves on what must have looked like a date to the rest of the world, but to them was more like a really long goodbye.

They had found someone taking novelty photographs by the water and there, under the bright lights lining the paths around the water edge, the photographer took a few pictures of the two of them.

After a couple standard shots, the photographer urged Bucky to "be a good fella and surprise your girl." She never was sure what the photographer meant by that, but Bucky grabbed her up around the waist and dipped her backwards as if they were dancing. Her hands had flown out, one to his shoulder, and the other to her head, holding on her neat little hat.

The angle was perfect and captured Bucky's huge grin, half laughing, his eyes glued on her face, as he leaned towards her in the dip. If you didn't know any better, you would guess he was about to plant one on her. Especially with the way her smile looked so unendingly pleased. He had been wearing his dress uniform and was an absolute sight and she had dressed especially well that night; the picture looked like a poster for a romantic movie.

Steve did not know this picture existed and in fact, she was willing to bet that Bucky didn't know she had it on her bookshelf, something she looked at several times a day. Silently, Winnie thanked god that her apartment was strictly off limits to male visitors – it meant she never had to tidy it up for having anyone over.

"Well, I'm dizzy for him just lookin' at this," Mirabel said, her tone deadpan as she looked up at Winnie. Winnie rolled her eyes again and retrieved the picture, pausing to look at Bucky's happy, laughing, face. Her stomach fluttered and she quickly put it down.

"Well kid, I think that answers my question," Mirabel said softly and instead of shooting her a dirty look, Winnie grabbed the third picture from her and pointed at the trio laughing together on a park bench. This was taken right after high school graduation, right before her father lost everything to gambling debts she and her mother never knew existed. _Right before everything went sour_, she thought sadly, remembering the way their lives had crumbled, and how quickly it had all changed.

"We're friends, the best of them, ever since we were all just children," Winnie tried to explain, knowing that Mirabel didn't believe her, "I'd never do that."

"Never do what? Choose?" Mirabel asked shrewdly. Winnie put the picture down quickly and shook her head. "It's not a choice, we're all just –", Winnie tried to explain but Mirabel put a soft hand over her own and squeezed gently. "Oh darling, an idiot could see it, you know," her friend's voice was soft and Winnie closed her eyes.

"You don't understand," Winnie replied weakly, "He and I, we couldn't. There's Steve, and the war, and I live out here, and…" Mirabel shook her head and climbed to her feet.

"Those are not reasons," the blonde replied easily, moving to the door and opening it, "Those are a coward's excuses." Mirabel slipped from the room and shut the door and Winnie felt childishly irritated. She stuck her tongue out at the door, resenting what felt like her friend's apt deduction of what was going on.

_I am not a coward._

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Steve paced anxiously in his apartment, the same apartment he'd been living in since he was born. He only had a few minutes to linger before it was time to leave for work at the movie theatre. He found it comforting that he earned his living in the place that had offered him so much comfort, solace, and happy memories of socializing with his pals as he grew up.

He'd gone to a small business college, working at the theatre cleaning aisles and running reels, to pay his way through the brief two year stint in furthered education. He earned a minor degree in business management and was surprised when the owner of the theatre, an older man he'd known since he was knee high to a grasshopper, offered him a promotion. A chance to put down the broom and pick up the pen – learning the ins and outs of running the place. Accepting meant he didn't need to leave home, and it meant security in a time where the world was seemed like it was unravelling a little bit. So of course he accepted, and he never regretted it, even it did mean working almost daily and all around the clock.

There was a loud knock at his door and Steve lunged for the door handle, wrenching it open and smiling hugely at the sight of his friend. Bucky strode through the door and pulled Steve into a hearty, squeezing hug, clapping the smaller man on the back several times.

"Say Steve, I missed you! Look at you! How are you?" Bucky spoke happily, his face split in a grin. Steve smiled back, nodding happily, taking in the uniform and the way Bucky came across in it. His friend carried himself with a kind of nonchalant pride now that he was a Sergeant. Bucky had just managed to scrape through school, academics were not his strong suit. He preferred to work in different ways, and the military had suited him just fine.

Just like Steve hated to be bothered about his size and general wimpiness, he knew that Bucky hated to be told he was an ignoramus, just because he had no book smarts. Steve gestured towards his small, worn couch, thinking that what his friend didn't learn from books, he learned by being shrewd, clever, a problem solver, thinking quick on his feet, and being excellent in a crisis. These were traits Steve did not have, for all he could pass a math test, or write a perfect paragraph. This made Bucky perfect for the military, and as Steve trailed his eyes over the varied and confusing badges and medals on Bucky's jacket, he knew that the military was happy to have his friend.

"You look good, Steve," Bucky said, smiling in a softer way, his heading turning this way and that as he looked around the apartment, "The place looks good too." Steve nodded and gazed quickly about the apartment. He had sold or thrown out almost all of the furniture and décor from his parents, choosing to purchase and obtain new or used things for the small space, on his own. He didn't want the memories and was willing to go without certain comforts until he could afford to buy his own.

"When did you get in?" Steve asked, watching as Bucky leaned back on the couch and looked right at Steve, smiling pleasantly. "Just got in yesterday," Bucky explained, "Ma made me eat all day, and then had every family member she could find over, and then they all sat and lectured me on being too thin, before I could escape – meant to be here sooner." Steve nodded and smiled with one side of his mouth.

"Have you talked to Win yet? She's coming in tonight," Steve smiled without being able to help it very much; he looked forward to her weekend's home more than he probably should. Bucky eyed him carefully for a moment and opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again and looked away. Steve knew what he likely wanted to ask.

"I'm over her," Steve said unconvincingly. Bucky pressed his lips together in a strained smile and nodded. They both remembered the disaster, how Steve had impulsively proposed to Winnie that terrible night, five years ago. He had been a little high on himself, having just graduated college, with a good job on the table before him. She had lost everything a couple years before, with her father's business failing, their possessions and home being ripped away from them, and then her father killing himself, and had struggled ever since to make her place in the world.

She and Bucky had arrived at Steve's apartment and she announced she was taking a job in the city, to make more money, to help support her mother. Neither he nor Bucky thought it was a great idea, and they both tried to convince her to stay, that they'd all find a way. Her stubborn streak had appeared then though, and she'd lifted her little chin in the air and declared she could do everything on her own.

So Steve proposed. He'd blurted it out without thinking, on an impulse so foolish that even now he wanted to open his front door and fling himself off the stairway. The slack jawed look on both of their faces as the last words left his mouth made him wish he could reach out and cram those horrifying words back in. It was Winnie's face though, the horrible pained look of loss that settled so heavily on her delicate features that really hit him hard. Her wide green eyes had blinked at him rapidly several times and then her gaze had flickered over to Bucky, and something had passed between them, he wasn't sure what, but it hit him like a freight train.

Still, he had waited for her answer, when he should have perhaps been back-tracking, working on turning it into a joke. It put tremendous pressure on his friend who was already under such strain due to the ruin of her life at home. She had climbed to her feet, her face crumpling as she shook her head at him and started crying.

"No Steve," she had whispered, sounding horribly sorry and also terribly heartbroken, "We're friends… I don't think of you like that… I'm sorry, I just can't… you're my best friend…" Her wet eyes had darted over to Bucky's face again and Steve's had too, surprised to see sadness, guilt, and even anger on Bucky's face when his eyes met Steve's. Winnie had grabbed her purse and jacket and fled the apartment, avoiding both Steve and Bucky for nearly a year.

Bucky had been upset with Steve for his impulsivity, his poor timing, putting her on the spot like that, and then his stubborn embarrassment when Steve refused to contact her and make things right again. Bucky refused to get in between them, and Steve knew he had suffered during that year as well, when none of the three of them could really be together the way they used to.

Eventually, Winnie was the brave one, she came to Steve and apologized, expressing her feelings about how important his friendship was to her in a few sentences, but making it clear that romance was not on the table. He'd eagerly accepted, apologizing profusely, and after a somewhat rocky and awkward re-start, things had resumed as normal, and the trio was together again.

Bucky stared at Steve now as if he had something to say and then looked away. "Are you really over her?" Bucky had asked, his tone curious, but his eyes serious. Steve nodded, trying to be serious. If by "over her" Bucky meant that he wouldn't ever try and pursue her again, but would always pine from afar, then yes, he was.

"You know it's only a matter of time until she finds someone else," Bucky told him, his tone delivering it like the hard truth that it was, "Maybe not now, with the war, but eventually, and if you want her around, you'll have to get used it." Steve got up and took a few steps away.

"This isn't exactly the welcome home a guy wants to have with his pal, you know," Steve muttered. He heard Bucky get up behind him and then drop a heavy hand on Steve's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I just worry about you – who's keeping an eye on you if I'm not here to do it?" Bucky tried to joke and Steve forced a laugh. Bucky clapped Steve on the back and then sauntered over to Steve's battered desk in the corner.

When Bucky abruptly paused, his gaze locked on something on the desktop, Steve knew he was found out. "Steve," Bucky asked him, his voice strange and tight, "What is this?" Bucky turned to him, the sheaf of military forms clutched in his hand rustling a little bit. Steve clenched his jaw and looked away. Bucky stepped closer, his tone deepening in concern.

"My god Steve, you can't be serious," Bucky told him in an urgent voice, "You were turned down that first time, wasn't that enough?" Steve thought back to his first 4F and glared at Bucky, gesturing impatiently at his tall friend in his impressive dress uniform. "That's easy for you to say," Steve responded childishly. Bucky tossed the handful of papers back on the desk.

"Steve, they turned you away for a reason! You know that you can't do this, they need guys, they need all they can, but they need them at peak health, that's just how it is," Bucky explained in a rush, moving towards Steve and gripping his slim shoulders in both hands, "And you know why they need 'em healthy?" Steve stared up at Bucky and clenched his jaw, before shaking his head and looking away.

Bucky released his grip on Steve and paced back to the couch, tossing himself down on it. "Because it's a nightmare over there, man," Bucky told him, his voice quiet and unhappy, "It's not all heroic scenes and victory music – people die, every day, in the worst ways a man can." Steve said nothing, only watched his friend mentally relive whatever images those words had provoked.

"I just want to do my part," Steve told him quietly. Bucky looked up at him, his lively blue eyes serious. "Then keep doing what you're doing here: work hard, visit my mother, be a friend to Winnie, donate your time in other ways," Bucky urged him. Steve closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to refrain from bursting into a long winded explanation of just inadequate that was for him.

"I have to get to work, I'll see the two of you tomorrow, right?" Steve asked, climbing to his feet and grabbing his jacket. Bucky followed him to the door and nodded. As they parted on the street below, Steve clasped the collar of his jacket around his neck a little more tightly.

_He has everything, he couldn't understand._

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Bucky was getting impatient. He was happy to see his mother yesterday, and was always pleased to do anything that made her smile, especially because with all four of her boys enlisted, and his father working almost around the clock, he knew she was lonely. But he had wanted to leave and go see his friends almost immediately.

Talking on the phone to Winnie last night, hearing her familiar and easy exuberance, the genuine happiness in her voice that just hearing him on the phone gave her, had filled him with a nearly impossible to control desire to see her immediately. Two years away had made him realize a lot of things and the war wasn't nearly over yet; her importance to him was becoming a crystal clear thing in his mind. The more he thought about it, he realized that both of his best friends had attained nearly mythical statuses in his mind while he was away, in their own ways.

Talking to Steve had torn him two ways. He missed his friend terribly, but worried about him constantly. Especially now that he had seen all the 4Fs. He had no idea that Steve was still trying to enlist, despite repeated rejections, to the point where he was breaking the law now by lying on his forms. Bucky had seen terrible things already, and he hadn't even been on the front lines yet. The thought of Steve being one of the battered and broken boys he saw made him sick. He had a few days here, and Bucky resolved to make Steve see how wrong he was about his desire to join the military.

The doorbell rang and Bucky leapt to his feet, cutting a line across his parent's living room. Plans had changed last minute when his parents announced that they were going to be out for the night, visiting friends in Jersey, leaving him the house for the night. Bucky had called Winnie immediately, seeing if she'd rather be here than in her mother's small apartment, and she had agreed instantly.

He ran his hands over his hair quickly, and readjusted his shirt, hoping he had made the right decision when he decided that since he was home he could wear his civilian clothes. He knew Winnie got a kick out of his military attire, but he really just wanted to be Bucky Barnes tonight, not Sgt Barnes.

He pulled the door open and there she was. Winnie was standing in her gray coat, the edge of her dress below peeping out beneath the bottom of the coat. Her hair was shorter than he remembered, only just touching her shoulders, but just as shiny, and little wisps of it here and there were curled out around her head, likely from hurrying here on this slightly windy night.

He meant to be a gentleman and invite her in, help her out of her jacket and urge her to take a seat, but instead they both lunged at each other and he scooped her up in a hug that made her laugh, while she clutched her arms around his neck.

"I missed you so much!" She cried and he laughed at the simple sincerity in her voice. He let her down and held her at arm's length, smiling at her. "Look at you," he said, letting his eyes take in her face, the familiar contours of her cheekbones and the width of her bright smile. He noticed that she looked a little misty-eyed and chucked her under the chin lightly.

"Now, don't turn the waterworks up on account of me," he joked with her and she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes, laughing self-consciously. "I missed you," she said again, this time her tone was quiet. Bucky took her coat and led her to the couch where they sat on either end of it, facing each other. He watched with a smile as she slid off her shoes and curled her legs up next to herself, the way she always had in the past and felt a ripple of happiness knowing that some things never changed.

"Are you alright?" She asked him, her eyes locked on his face, "Truly alright? It's so hard to tell from your letters, and they censor so much!" Bucky nodded at her and smiled a little. "I know they do, and we all think it makes it much harder to write anything worth writing knowing some guy is just going to be reading it before it reaches home," he explained. Winnie nodded and looked down at her hands, tracing a finger along the pattern on the sofa.

"When are you leaving again," she asked him quietly, her voice almost a whisper. He leaned towards her, putting a finger under her chin, lifting her face up to look at him. He raised his eyebrows with a small smile. "You're always such an optimist, Win," he teased her, "I just got here and you're already imagining me going!" He managed to get the laugh he wanted out of her and that seemed to take some of the starch out of the reunion; they sank back into their familiar, friendly roles and proceeded to chat nearly the entire night away.

He told her about the places he'd been, the guys he'd met, a brief and sunny overview of some of the action he'd seen (leaving out anything negative). She had stared at him, nodding, eyes wide, the entire time, and her whole posture saying she was drinking in everything with honest interest. When he felt like he was out of things to tell, he started prodding her with questions, at first broad (Where do you work now? What do you do there? Where do you live?), and then smaller and more specific questions (Are you lonely in that apartment? Do you miss your mother? Are you happy?).

"Am I happy?" She repeated, looking at her fingers and then back up at him, her green eyes slightly veiled, as if there was something she was trying to keep from him. "I'm happy my job makes a difference," she started, "I'm happy my mother is doing so much better than a couple years ago. I'm happy that the last time I visited Steve, he seemed so comfortable with his job." She scooted a little closer to him on the couch and slowly, timidly, reached for one of his hands, clasping it in her own small, warm, fingers. "I'm happy you're here, that you're alive, and I'll be happier when you're home for good," she said in a tone that was like a confession. He studied her face, their joined hands, and felt a welling up of hope. The way his thoughts about her had changed during his absence, that semi-buried half-realized hope of what he wanted her to be to him, now bubbled up to the surface.

Thinking back to Steve's horrifically timed and terribly delivered proposal to her, Bucky had a brief moment of indecision, before one of her slim fingers brushed along the inside of his wrist; a movement so tiny and seemingly insignificant that he almost missed it. But his eyes darted to hers and he saw something in them, something he'd seen that night when he'd dipped her in his arms on the boardwalk while they got their picture taken, or the night he'd kissed her and she'd said, "Oh," before asking for another.

He pulled his hands from hers and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, and he wasted no time before he bent to her and kissed her again. He kissed her the way he'd been wanting to since they were seventeen years old. Her hands moved to his shoulders, then his neck, and one into his hair, as he pulled her closer. They lost themselves to the kiss, to the moment. He could smell her hair, and her skin; it was all around him. He felt like he was going to get drunk off of her. He kept pulling her closer, until she was half into his lap, pressed against his chest. He buried his hands into her hair, feeling the silky handfuls of it weave through his fingers.

When they finally paused, coming up for air, her cheeks were flushed bright pink and her lips were swollen. Her eyes looked starry and bright and her hair was a rumpled mess. He wanted to take a picture, he wanted this image of her seared into his brain forever.

"Wow," she finally said, softly. His gaze roamed over her face before his eyes darted up to meet hers. He smirked a little and said, "You're not gonna break a lamp over my head, are you?" She blinked at him before laughing, the sound making him feel light and happy. _You've it got bad now,_ he mentally warned himself, knowing he'd crossed some line with her, and wasn't going to be satisfied with only her friendship any longer.

"Not immediately I won't," she told him and he leaned down, pressing another kiss to her mouth, then her cheeks, her nose, her forehead. He went about kissing her entire face with reverence and eagerness, as if he'd been waiting to pay worship at this particular altar for longer than he could handle. She was laughing quietly, obviously a little shy about the attention, but that only made him fall further into the hole he was digging for himself.

"Do you go out with other guys?" He asked her, leaning away from her face. Her eyes took a moment to focus and she glared at him. "What kind of a question is that at a time like this?" She asked him in disbelief. He rubbed a hand across his mouth quickly, realizing how stupid that sounded. He scooted closer to her and smiled apologetically. "That came out wrong," he explained, and she pressed her lips together and raised an eyebrow at him.

"No, I do not," she answered, trying to be prim, "Not that I haven't been asked." She was trying to be coy with the last part, but Bucky knew her too well and she only managed to make it sound like a guilty admission.

"What have you been waiting for?" He asked her quietly, leaning in closer to her, his face inches from hers. "I know you want me to say 'you', you giant egotist," she responded in a quiet voice. He laughed suddenly and so did she, and then he leaned in and kissed her again, pinning her to the back of the couch, his arms forming a cage on either side of her. She threw both of her own arms around his neck and gripped tightly.

A few moments later they parted and Bucky held her to his chest, resting his chin on top of her head. "Don't," he muttered. She stirred in his arms and tilted her head to look up at him. "Don't what?" She asked him, her eyebrows drawing together a little in confusion.

He looked back down at her, at her beautiful open face, her kind eyes, and kissed her forehead.

"Don't see any other guys," he whispered against her hairline, his lips tickling the edge of her temple, "Just wait for me… please."

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_Don't ruin this with questions, don't ruin this with questions, don't ruin this with questions_, Winnie silently begged herself. She felt like she was in some kind of hazy dream. All the hopes and desires she had shoved down, choked back, and fought to ignore since the very first time they'd kissed, that night 8 years ago – they were all at the forefront of her mind, streaming through her thoughts at the loudest possible mental volume.

She found a mean little voice in her head telling her that Bucky was on a brief leave after being surrounded by men for two years; any man would be hard up after that amount of time. But she really only had to stare into his bright, earnest eyes for a moment to strangle that voice and put it away. Besides, she guessed she knew him too well – Bucky Barnes didn't have a mean bone in his body, and she knew that beyond whatever this was, he was her best friend, and she his; he wouldn't ever be so cruel.

"I will," she responded, awkwardly tilting her head away from his. His huge grin in response made her laugh and he kissed her mouth quickly, as if trying to capture her smile. She sat snuggled into his arms then, listening to his heart beat as they both reclined on the couch contentedly. The questions in her mind started to build up, bigger and bigger, and she couldn't hold them in for much longer. The logical part of her brain, the part that loved learning the answers to all its questions, was nearly pulsing against the backs of her eyes.

"Go ahead," Bucky finally said, and she twisted in his arms to look at his face. He was smiling at her playfully, and he quirked up a quick eyebrow at her and gestured a little with his chin. "You're stiff as a board over here," he told her, "Go ahead and start talking, I know you're dying to, kid."

Rearranging herself a little, Winnie leaned back and met his calm and accepting eyes. "Are we engaged now?" She asked him, knowing it was a bold question, but completely unwilling to wonder about what the answer _might_ be for the next however many years. Bucky blinked and leaned back from her. "That's a loaded question," he responded. She swallowed and nodded, partially wishing she could take it back.

"I guess we are," he finally said, slowly, "Though it isn't the way a guy ought to propose, especially to his best friend." Winnie laughed a little and looked away. "Yeah, I guess not," she replied, "But I'm 25 now, Bucky, and I don't know how long this war will go on for, how long you'll be away from me, and, well, you know what I want in life, more than most people." He was staring at her softly and nodded his head. She was thinking of a few heartfelt conversations the three of them had together over the years, of long held dreams and desires for houses and children, dream jobs and marriage.

"I want those things too," he told her, and she looked back at him, a smile growing on her face. "So that's it? We're engaged?" She asked him. His smile grew too and he nodded back at her. She laughed loudly and lightly shoved his shoulder.

"Well don't you move fast? You've been sweet on me for about an hour and you've already gone and proposed!" She teased him. He grabbed her up in his arms again, quickly, and her eyes widened. He leaned down and kissed her again, much, much more deeply than he had up until now. She found herself lost in the pleasure in the kiss, with a dim part of her mind warning her that she was right on the edge of what she considered proper. He broke the contact and replied, "Win, I think I've been sweet on you since the day you whooped me good."

Winnie collected herself a little, climbing up and off the couch, feeling cold suddenly outside of the warm circle of his arms. She started pacing a little, thinking how to pose her next question. When she paused and looked up at him, comfortable and delightfully rumpled looking as he sat on the couch, he raised his eyebrows to her, indicating she should say what was on her mind.

"Oh Bucky," she murmured finally, watching his face tighten in concern at the mournful tone of her voice, "What are we going to tell Steve?" She watched his face go through a myriad of emotions, as the problems and possibilities raced through his mind. Finally an expression of calm settled over him. He smiled softly at her and waved her towards him. She approached and stood in front of him, allowing him to draw her close, both her hands tucked into his.

Bucky tilted his head back and stared up at her. "We won't tell him anything," he said quietly, "Right now, this is for us and us alone. When everything is… over," Bucky paused and bit his lip, "When everything is back to normal, when I'm home, and the war is over – we can tell him then." Winnie didn't know what to say. Part of her was overwhelmingly glad that he wanted to keep this mum. The other half of her was burning with guilt at the idea of keeping such a secret from Steve.

She did not love Steve the way he wanted her to, but Winnie loved Steve as the dearest of friends that he was, and she hated to keep things from him. Bucky's face moved closer to hers, and her gaze snagged on his eyes, and then drifted down over his face, to his lips, his chin, his cheekbones, his nose – every inch of a face she saw in her dreams almost nightly. She realized that she and Bucky were like a team now, and she knew that she would wait; wait for him to return and marry her, wait to share her happiness, wait for everything, for him.

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The next day, all three of them together again after being so long apart (and knowing that in a manner of days they would all be apart again), was like being thrown back into the past. Steve felt calm, and happy, especially because both Winnie and Bucky seemed calm and happy. Bucky had shown up at Steve's that morning with a grinning Winnie on his arm, and she had thrust a newspaper at him.

"Oh! Say you wanna go Steve! Won't it be fun?" She exclaimed. Steve glanced up to see Bucky smiling softly and indulgently down at the top of Winnie's head, and then directing the smile over to Steve.

"Come on Steve, whatdya say? Want to go to the future?" Bucky asked. Steve glanced down at the ad in the paper, looking sleek and modern on the page, advertising the expo in New York City, with Howard Stark doing one of his big, flashy demonstrations.

"Sounds like a plan," Steve told them.

The night was fun, they chatted, they laughed, and they goofed around. Then three of them stood close to the stage when Howard Stark presented his hover car. The millionaire playboy noticed Winnie there, just below the stage, staring up in wide-eyed amazement at the car, looking like a million bucks in her bright green dress.

"Heya Honey, what say you drop those two nitwits and come on over for a ride in the car? Whatdya say, dollface – wanna take a ride with me?" The dashing man had offered. Winnie looked around, to see who he was speaking to, and then her jaw dropped when she realized it was her. Steve was chuckling, thinking it all in good fun, until he glanced over and say Bucky's jaw was tight and irritated. Bucky wrapped an arm around Winnie and clutched her waist and Stark laughed on stage.

"Oh ho! Looks like someone isn't going to let his sweetheart meet the competition!" Stark laughed and turned away to continue on with the next portion of his show and Bucky quickly pulled a giggling Winnie away from the stage. Steve couldn't understand the reaction in Bucky, thinking it uncharacteristically stodgy for his fun-loving pal. He paused to wonder if maybe Stark had been being incredibly crass and Bucky was just extra sensitive to that kind of stuff now. Steve glanced back at Stark one more time and laughed a little to himself, before he worked his way through the crowd to find his friends; the man was now flirting shamelessly with three of his dancers at the same time.

He walked around and around trying to find Winnie and Bucky, and finally paused, resting against the outside of a hotdog stand as he wondered where they'd got to. As his gaze moved around the expo grounds, they snagged on an enlistment building. He straightened abruptly, surprised and pleased to see the place. Now, instead of wanting to find his missing friends, he was hoping he could make his way across the expo grounds without them seeing him.

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Winnie didn't see what was so bad about it. Howard Stark was like a celebrity, the likelihood of her ever meeting him again was so slim it was laughable. She thought it was all in good fun, just part of the show, and said so to Bucky. She couldn't keep a smile off her face. Bucky didn't agree with her though, and he'd possessively wrapped an arm around her, a move that made her tense up in worry beneath his arm, until he knew she saw that Steve just thought the whole scenario was a hoot.

"It ain't funny Win," Bucky insisted, from his perch on the upturned bucket he was sitting on. He'd dragged her off behind the nearest building, a lemonade stand, and was now glaring at her continued giggles. "Oh, calm down you old fuddy duddy," Winnie teased him, looking around quickly before bending at the waist to plant a soft kiss to Bucky's mildly pouting lips, "It was all a big joke and honestly, I'm a little flattered that there's actually someone outside of just you that thinks I'm something to look at."

Bucky was surprised in the face of her shy vanity, and got to his feet. He put a hand on either side of her head and bent away from her, looking her straight in the face. "Winnie, its sweet how much you're blind to," he told her, "Plenty of guys look at you, and trust me, they are _all_ thinking that you're something to look at." Winnie pressed her lips together and looked away, her giggles dying as she decided to grow embarrassed instead.

"I compliment you and that's embarrassing, but Mr. Big Shot propositions you in front of thousands of people and that's flattering?" He asked her, his hands dropping from her face. Winnie straightened like she'd been pinched. "Propositioned me?" She cried, her face flaming red, "When did he do that? He just called me dollface!" Bucky blinked at her for a moment and then felt laughter bubbling behind his lips. He put the back of his hand to his mouth, to try and smother it, but it didn't work and he ended up laughing long and hard.

"You stop laughing at me, Bucky Barnes!" She yelled at him, her tone indignant. He managed to control himself and swept an arm around her waist, pulling her into his front. She put a hand up against his chest and pushed a little away from him, tilting her head up to glare at him. He smiled down at her.

"Win, you don't think he actually meant to take you for a ride in the actual car did you?" Bucky's words were careful, but his tone was still laughing and it seemed to take her a moment to get past her irritation with his teasing, to grasp his words. She stilled in his arms and looked away for a moment. Bucky watched her face carefully, knowing she was sifting through his words, and Stark's. When it finally clicked for her, what Stark had meant, the innuendo, she blushed an almost explosive shade of bright red and immediately buried her forehead against Bucky's shirt, hiding her face.

"Oh I never!" She gasped. Bucky laughed a little bit, struck again by her sweetness, her naivety, her general innocence to some things. "For a smart girl, you sure are sheltered," he mumbled, brushing his lips against the top of her hair, inhaling the smell of her soap. She slapped a hand against his arm and he let go of her. She took a step back and glared at him.

"The nerve of him! How dare he! I can't believe you're laughing! I'm supposed to be your girl and you think this is funny?" She was angry, and Bucky finally sobered. "I wasn't laughing about what Stark said; that's why I led us away; to get you out of his sight and myself away so I wouldn't clobber him," he explained to her. Her face settled and she calmed down before holding a hand to her forehead. "I am so embarrassed right now," she told him, "Please don't look at me."

"I'll do you one better," he offered and closed the distance between them quickly, wrapping both arms around her and pressing her to his chest before leaning down and claiming her mouth with his. This time they were entwined much longer than they had been before, their embrace growing deeper and more intimate with each passing moment. Her mouth and tongue were warm, and for someone who was so incredibly naïve, she certainly knew how to use them. He moaned slightly against her mouth and backed up until he had her pressed up against the back of the lemonade stand.

His mouth left her lips and kissed its way down her cheek and onto her neck, nuzzling behind her ear and then in the crook where her throat dipped down to her chest. He could feel her heart beating fast, like a little bird, and her breathing was short, but her hands stayed fixed to his head, roaming in his hair. He marvelled at the taste of her skin, at the small sounds she was making, and couldn't believe his luck. _She's mine._

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Winnie was deep in some dark, warm, wonderful place; a cocoon that seemed to exist only around the two of them. Bucky was everywhere with his kisses and she felt like she had died and was floating up to heaven. She'd heard the talk, from the girl's she lived with and worked with, she knew that this was only the beginning, that better things were awaiting them both; but Winnie was insistent with herself that all of that would wait for them. They would be married first. She knew girls were getting more and more "progressive", especially with the war going on, but she also knew that was not the way she was raised.

A loud bang and a clatter sounded from inside the lemonade stand and the two of them leapt apart as if they were spring loaded. Bucky laughed and rolled his neck a little, keeping his warm smile on her face, before he turned and quickly surveyed the crowd on the other side of the stand.

"I'll be damned," he muttered, his face tightening, "There's a recruitment building here." Winnie felt her heart sink, knowing that was definitely where they were headed next.

"Let's go get him," she told Bucky. He nodded and grasped her hand and they moved a few steps past the booth. Bucky paused and turned back to her.

"Wait," he said suddenly, "This'll be easier if you're not there, if it's just between him and I." Winnie studied his face and saw the sincerity and worry there, and her heart melted. "Fine, but if he doesn't agree, you tell him he has to face me next and he definitely doesn't want that kind of scene," she threatened. Bucky smiled and bent his dark head to place a quick kiss to her lips. She waved him off, treated herself to a soda, and sat on a bench, her eyes on the recruitment building, hoping that Bucky could finally set Steve straight before he did something stupid, like actually manage to get enlisted.

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Later that night, Bucky emerged, downcast and upset, his face a thundercloud as he approached Winnie. "That's not an encouraging look," she told him. He stared at her, his blue eyes turbulent and Winnie's face dropped in shock.

"No!" She cried, unwilling to believe that it had happened. Bucky went to her side, grabbing her hands in his, nodding slowly at her. "He wouldn't listen Win, he insisted, and he has a point I guess, in a way, he wants to do his part!" Bucky explained. Winnie felt her jaw clench and made to push past him, determination flooding her veins; she would march right in there and tear a strip off Steve Rogers until he just un-enlisted himself!

Bucky caught her around the upper arm, holding her back. "Winnie it's no use," he told her firmly, "Some doctor in there, some scientist, he got Steve into a special science reserve – he's shipping out for basic tomorrow." Winnie turned wide eyes to him, her stomach clenching hard at the thought of Steve, her sweet, innocent, and rather helpless friend, at the hands of the Nazis.

"He can't though, Bucky, you know he can't, he'll be –", her voice cut off when she gulped back a small sob, terrified that because of his own stubborn feelings of inadequacy, Steve was going to get himself killed. Bucky held her to his chest, cradling the back of her head in his hand.

"I love Steve like a brother, but we could only ever _try_ and turn him off the notion," Bucky told her, "Winnie, he's scrappy, and he's smarter than anyone I know, except you. I think in this science reserve of his he'll be safer." She stared up at him, hope flaring in her veins. A group within the army specifically devoted to science! She thought that meant level-heads and laboratories, maybe not guns and death – she felt her blood cooling. _The might just be perfect – Steve gets to serve __and__ he gets to live_, she thought with a spasm of optimism.

Bucky bent to her, kissing her forehead, then her nose, and then her lips. She finally relaxed in his arms and let him kiss her some more. "I don't think I'll ever get enough of kissing you," he murmured to her, his lips against her forehead. She smiled and tilted her face up, kissing his chin and then the corner of his lip. "I certainly hope not," she replied teasingly, "Because I seem to remember that marriages are typically quite long!" They smiled at each other before a horrified voice tore them apart.

"Married?!" Steve shouted at them, his face pale. He had obviously walked up behind Bucky, having finished at the recruitment center. Winnie's heart sank like a rock, because it was also obvious that he'd seen and heard all the most damaging things.

"Steve, wait," Winnie said, stepping towards him. "How long?" Steve asked, looking away from both of them, his jaw tight. Bucky glanced down at Winnie and she met his eyes briefly before turning to Steve and saying, "Steve, please, let us explain –".

"_How long?"_ Steve insisted, his voice heavy and angry with betrayal. It was Bucky who answered, reaching down for Winnie's hand, which he held gently in his larger one.

"Since yesterday night," Bucky answered him, his voice gentle and low. Steve turned to look at them, the hurt and betrayal rippling over his features making Winnie want to be sick.

"I'm glad I'm going tomorrow morning, because I can't stand to look at either of you," he said in quiet fury, before turning on his heel and walking away. Winnie made to go after him, but Bucky stopped her.

"Don't," he warned her, "You'll just make it worse, let him feel it, then we can step in and try and fix it."

"He's my best friend," Winnie said sadly. Bucky put a hand on the side of her face and she looked up at him, feeling the heaviness of the frown she wore. "He's mine too," Bucky told her, "We'll get him back, Win, I know it."


	3. Chapter 3 - Man With a Plan

_**Chapter 3 – Man with a Plan**_

_**1943 – New York City**_

"Mirabel, I wish you would've left me at home," Winnie whined, unhappy with being in her cruelest heels, in a fitted and fashionable dress, her hair pinned precisely in style on her head. Mirabel just waved a dismissive hand at her.

"Oh nonsense, you old wet blanket you, I've told you before, these shows are spectacular! They're hardly even about the money anymore!" Her friend explained exuberantly. They climbed from their cab after it stopped outside the grand theatre and even Winnie was momentarily taken aback by the huge, patriotic display all around the outside of it.

"It's like stepping into a movie!" Winnie breathed, as Mirabel giggled and grabbed her arm, hurrying them towards the door. The ticket taker eyed them each appreciatively as Mirabel handed over the two tickets she had managed to obtain for this event.

"You have just _got to_ come!" Mirabel had insisted the night before, as she brandished the tickets wildly above her head. Winnie had sighed and turned her back on her friend, staring down at her desk at her framed picture of Bucky sadly. Mirabel's voice had been soft and her hand on Winnie's shoulder gentle as she had stepped up behind Winnie.

"Winnie," Mirabel said kindly, "He's probably just fine, this is perfectly normal. Why, I bet in a couple of weeks you'll end up with a whole stack of letters from him, all of them having been hung up together at some strange English post office!" Winnie had smiled, the feeling of it foreign and unwanted on her face. She was desperate to believe what Mirabel was saying. She had surprised herself by how quickly she accepted the invitation to go after that.

_You need the distraction,_ she had coached herself as she grudgingly got ready, _Bucky would want you to go out and quit worrying._ Her heart flopped sickeningly every time she thought about his face, his smile, his voice, his kiss, and the way his broad shoulders felt in his uniform. Shaking her head now, Winnie handed her jacket over to the coat check, receiving a little ticket in return.

"Come on sweetie! Let's go get our seats!" Mirabel urged, dragging Winnie through the crowds, and down the aisles towards their wonderful seats. Winnie was slack-jawed with awe as she took in the stage. The decoration up there was astounding – it hardly looked real.

"What is this guy?" Winnie asked in awe, taking in all the red, white, and blue. Mirabel giggled and waggled her fingers at the empty stage. "I hear he's a dish, that's what!" Her friend answered excitedly. Winnie shook her head and couldn't suppress a smile for her friend. When the lights dimmed, everyone in the huge theatre took their seats and the show started.

The music was loud, the lights were flashing, the beautiful uniformed women danced and sang, and there were even fireworks. Winnie was initially quite caught up in all of it, and could see why everyone loved the man and the show so much.

_Bucky would get such a kick out of this_, she thought sadly, _Steve too._ At the thought of Steve, she stopped caring about the stage and gazed blankly down at her hands, even as Mirabel squealed quietly next to her, "There he is! Hubba hubba!"

Steve had gone to basic, and that was it. He never answered any of her or Bucky's letters. His apartment was always empty. No one knew where he had gone, it was like he vanished. It broke Winnie's heart. Steve was her best friend, and she missed him so badly it ached. She couldn't imagine what Bucky felt like. She knew Steve was like a brother to Bucky, and utterly beloved of the entire Barnes family, so she couldn't help but feel it was her fault he wasn't going to visit Bucky's mother anymore during her sons' absence.

For their part, Bucky's family, mother included, seemed pleased as punch that she and Bucky were engaged, so when Winnie started to take up visits to the Barnes house in Steve's stead, she was always warmly received. Nothing helped the ache that losing Steve's friendship and missing Bucky left in her chest though.

After the awful night at the expo, Bucky had dropped her off and must have immediately gone to a jewelers the following morning, because when he came by to take her out for his last day in town, he had a ring. Winnie stared down at the ring now, only the small diamond glinting in the darkness of the theatre.

"Ooh, here he comes!" Mirabel whispered, and Winnie looked up to see Captain America swing down off the stage, acting as if he was hunting Adolf Hitler in the crowd. Winnie loved shows, taking them in on Broadway whenever she could afford it, but she despised it when the cast interacted with the audience. They invariably singled her out each time, as if they could sense she detested it. So as Captain America proudly walked down the aisle towards her, she cringed in her seat, ducking her shoulders and turning her face from him.

So, naturally, he selected Mirabel as the audience member that would join the fun.

"Excuse me miss, but I'm Captain America, and I would like your help," he announced loudly, his voice masculine and deep. Mirabel was quite nearly a puddle next to her, and Captain America reached his hand out across Winnie to Mirabel, shaking Mirabel's gloved hand in his own.

Winnie glanced up at his face briefly and her heart actually stopped beating for a moment. Her first thought was that somehow, that science reserve military group had chopped off pieces of Steve's face for some reason and donated it to the brawny man in red, white, and blue who was leaning over her. She heard him speak again to Mirabel and really heard his voice for the first time.

She didn't know how it was possible, but this man was Steve.

Winnie felt like she was going quite mad, sitting there and trying to make sense of the impossible. "Holy shit," she said, her voice much, much louder than she had intended it to be. Winnie never swore, ever, so Mirabel gasped at her and Captain America turned his eyes to Winnie. She watched his baby blues nearly bug out of his face.

"Oh my god," he replied. He stood up straight and took a step back as Winnie got to her feet, edging away from her seat and into the aisle. She suddenly felt such massive fear that she hardly knew what to do. What she was seeing was impossible, and therefore terrifying to her eyes. The boy she had loved like a brother almost her whole life was suddenly gigantic, for no apparent reason (other than selling war bonds, it seemed).

"Winnie, I –", Steve began to talk, reaching a hand out for her and Winnie recoiled from it, stumbling back a step. "Steve? How did… why? What are you Steve?" She cried. He looked around quickly at the huge audience that was now raptly fascinated with the strange scene unfolding before them, one that was clearly not part of the show. Steve moved for her, reaching for her arm, and she panicked, turning on her heel and racing down the aisle, out of the theatre.

All she could think was '_get away get away get away'_. So when she barrelled through the doors into the lobby, she ran to the coat check and smashed her hand on the bell several times. "I want my coat! Now!" She called out, hoping that someone would just show up so she could get out of there.

"Winnie, please," his voice came from behind her. Winnie whirled around, her back pressed up against the coat check counter and she cringed away from him. "Stay back, you – whatever you are! Are you even a man anymore? Are you really Steve?" Her tone swung wildly from fear, to disgust, to outrage and Steve pulled off the Captain America mask. When his blonde hair slid across his face, she knew, it was Steve – for better or for worse, this was him.

Her face must have calmed down because he smiled tentatively, hopefully, at her.

"We thought you were dead! You creep! How could you just lock me out like that?" Winnie shrieked angrily and then lunged out and slapped him for all she was worth. She may as well have been slapping a wall for how immovable he was, and that caused her to lose her balance, trip forward, and smash her forehead against his shield.

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The nurse back stage had indicated Winnie would be fine, after checking out the goose egg forming on her forehead. Steve felt relieved, but also simultaneously terrible. This kind of thing would never have happened, as far as he was concerned, if he'd just told her about the experiment.

The mild lingering burn of betrayal barely registered for him anymore when he thought about Winnie and Bucky, especially after he had met Agent Carter and all the women he travelled with now – he knew there was more than just one girl for him, that now he could find a girl who reciprocated on the right level. He still didn't appreciate that Bucky and Winnie never spoke to him about it, but he could understand why they may not have. The problem was that he had never given them the chance to.

_One super-secret super soldier later and look at me now. _He had gotten incredibly wrapped up in his travels, his shows, his celebrity; he had found it easy to tuck away the thoughts and feelings about his two best friends, telling himself he'd deal with it all later. Maybe a part of him even felt like they deserved to wonder where he'd gone.

Now, watching Winnie hold an ice pack to her forehead, the edges of a red bruise already forming under it, he felt terrible. He'd seen her in the audience, hiding her face and ducking her head, and just assumed it was another shy spectator. He never made those people join the spotlight; he understood more than anyone what being shy meant – so he would focus on someone behind, beside, or in front of the shy person, so that they could avoid the spotlight, but still get a quick hello, a little recognition from the Cap.

"I never dreamed in a million years it'd be you sitting there, Win," he said suddenly. She looked up at him and cringed a little, then looked away. "I just don't understand," she told him wearily. Steve nodded and looked around, before moving quickly to her side. She jumped hard, the ice in the bag in her hand clacking together, and he leaned close to her face.

"Do you still trust me?" He whispered to her. She swallowed hard and met his eyes, her own green ones scrutinizing him with an intensity he'd never see before. Finally she nodded. "Come with me, don't say anything to anyone, no matter what," he told her. She nodded dumbly and walked out after him. Steve took her hand to tow her along after him, as he wove through the dancers and the show crew, making a beeline for the door. He ignored the stage manager and just as he was opening the door to the back alley, he heard the manager mutter.

"Good on ya Cap, this one's a looker!" Winnie froze in her tracks and glared at Steve, her back still to the manager. He shook his head minutely at her and whispered, "Trust me." She took a deep breath and followed him out. In the alley, a car was waiting and he opened the back door, ushering her inside. Winnie waited until he closed the door after he had climbed inside, to open her mouth and take in a big breath, prepared to chew him out for letting others think she was whore, no doubt. He clapped a hand over her mouth swiftly, gesturing with his chin towards the front of the large car.

"Where to Cap? Or do I need to ask?" The driver asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively in the rear view mirror. Steve sighed and gestured out the front window. "Just to the hotel please," he said. The driver hummed in response and the car moved forward.

Steve leaned towards Winnie, and her eyes grew huge, her hands coming up instinctively to push him away. He grasped both of her hands in one of his, holding them to her chest. Steve hunched his body over her, leaning his face up close to hers. He knew from his angle up front, the driver would see exactly what he expected to see. Steve took the opportunity to whisper in her ear.

"There's a lot more going on here than you know," he told her in a nearly silent voice, "If they knew you were from my old life, you would definitely be tossed out and I'd be whisked off to Europe or a lab somewhere." He leaned back and saw with relief that her eyes were now large and worried for him. "Please just follow my lead, until we get somewhere private," he urged her, "I promise to tell you everything."

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"So, you're a science experiment?" She asked him incredulously, knowing her expression didn't match the teasing tone in her voice at all. Steve smiled at her, almost with pity, she thought. _Well he's had a year to adjust to this, I haven't._ "I think I prefer the term 'super soldier'," he answered her.

Winnie rubbed both hands across her face, trying to scrub some feeling back into herself. She hissed and winced when she pressed down on the bruised lump adorning her forehead. "Damn it!" She cursed. Steve moved towards her and she climbed to her feet and held a hand up to him, indicating he should stay put.

"No, it's fine, give me a minute," she urged him. He nodded and sat down again. They were in the bathroom of his hotel room. Steve felt pretty certain that his rooms were always bugged, but certain that the bathroom would not be. They had the shower on now as they spoke.

"Steve, I just can't believe this is really you, you know?" She said softly, finally looking up at him. He shrugged his shoulders and she blinked at the muscles there. The muscles were everywhere really. Instead of exciting her, it made her sad and she put her face in her hands and started to cry. Steve made a small noise of alarm and stepped towards her, pulling her into a hard-chested hug.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be so awful," she cried, "But I miss _my _Steve! And I miss Bucky! I've been so alone, and now you're so different!" She cried harder and Steve squeezed her tighter. "I'm still the same guy, Win," he told her, "I'm just bigger." They were quiet for a moment as the absurdity of his comment sunk in and soon her shoulders were shaking with laughter and she could hear the rumble of his chuckles building in his chest. They leaned against each other as they laughed and laughed, tears in their eyes, hiccups in their throats.

When they had reached a certain level of calm again, she felt a lot of the tension had leaked from the air. "I haven't heard from Bucky in over two weeks," she told him softly then, surprising him and herself with the abrupt change in tone, "I usually get a letter every week, without fail, and now it's been almost three weeks." Steve put a hand on her back and she leaned against him, seeking comfort desperately.

"Steve, what if… what if he's… I just can't go on if he's…", she started crying again, huge gusting sobs, and Steve pulled her into his arms and rocked her a bit, telling her soothing things she needed to hear from someone she trusted implicitly. "Everything is fine, Bucky will be fine, we'll all be together soon and won't he be surprised!" He helped her out of the bathroom and into the bed and she let him take off her shoes before she lay down under the blankets.

Steve crouched next to the bed, at her eye level as she lay on her side. "You'll stay here tonight, and after this, you won't be alone anymore," he said. Winnie smiled slightly and nodded, before closing her eyes. She wanted to believe every word out of his mouth, so she decided that she did.

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Winnie awoke the next morning to find two things: 1) Her head hurt so badly she felt like her brain must be on fire, and 2) Steve was wide awake, dressed in normal clothes, talking on the phone. She sat up slowly, both hands pressed to her head and listened as he argued on the phone with someone. She glanced at the bedside table and saw a bottle of aspirin sitting there, next to a glass of water, a cup of coffee, and a small plate of breakfast food.

Winnie smiled a little smile to herself and immediately took the aspirin, before reaching for the coffee and holding it wrapped between her hands.

"And I think I get a little leeway with these decisions!" Steve argued on the phone, his large hand gripping the phone so tightly that Winnie wondered if he'd destroy it. "Look, you don't have anyone to step in and replace me, so that's the last I'm going to say on this subject; she's coming with us and that's that," Steve concluded firmly. The called ended shortly afterwards and Steve turned to her immediately.

Winnie was mostly done with the coffee and had eaten what she wanted of the food, so she brushed her hands off and slid to the edge of the bed, perching there and watching Steve watch her.

"So what was that all about?" She asked him lightly, swinging her feet a little bit. "You," he replied to her, his frustration still lingering on his face.

"What? How do they know about me? I thought the whole point of me staying up here last night was so that _wouldn't _know about me?" Winnie's voice grew more worried the more she spoke. She was not interested in having some secret military group after her because she knew too much.

"How would you like a job?" Steve asked her. Winnie blinked at him, not sure how to respond. "I have a job, Steve," she replied uneasily. "A job on my crew, I've told them I need a hair dresser, and that you're it," he told her calmly, "You'd travel with me from now on, at least until Bucky gets home and you two get married."

Winnie climbed to her feet, not certain how she felt about it. She paced, barefoot, back and forth across the soft hotel carpeting, trying to mull it all over in her head. Again, she had a thousand questions to ask, and she didn't want to hold them back.

"I would quit my job?"

"Yes, immediately, we're flying to Italy tomorrow for a show for the troops."

"What about my things?"

"We'll arrange to move it back to your mother's today, or my old apartment, whatever is easier – you'll just pack what you need."

"Steve, I can't do anyone's hair, I'm terrible with my own half the time."

Steve got to his feet and walked over to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. Winnie turned around and looked up at him, nearly dizzied by how much taller than her he was now, especially without her shoes on.

"You can just poke at it and pretend – it looks pretty alright without any help now anyways," Steve answered easily. Winnie's eyes darted to his hair and noticed that it looked playboy perfect. "Serum?" She guessed, and Steve nodded with a grin.

"Can I come back as soon as Bucky gets leave or gets sent home? I won't have to sign a contract?" She asked tentatively. Steve nodded and moved back to his seat, seeming to sense that his standing so close was making her uncomfortable.

"Just say yes, it'll be fun, we can pal around mostly like old times – hey! You could see the country, see the world travelling with Captain America!" Steve urged her. Winnie made a face at him, at his patriotic tone at the end, but finally nodded and answered, "Let's do this, I guess!"

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She'd never ever flown before; it was beautiful and terrifying. And loud. They weren't exactly flying commercial, it's not like they were on the nonstop from New York to Boca, this was a huge military style aircraft, kitted out on the inside to provide Captain America and his team with all the storage and comfort that they would need.

Winnie turned away from the window, wherever they were now, it was night time, so the darkness outside was only interesting for so long. They were on the final leg of the journey towards the camp in Italy, having made many zigzag flights to different air bases along the way for fueling, safe directions, and security checks. Right now, Steve was in the seat next to her, leaned back with his arms crossed over his chest, fast asleep.

With his face relaxed, he was her Steve again, the boy she grew up with; honest, stubborn, scrappy, kind – just a wonderful person. Idly she reached a hand towards his face, pushing a lock of his blonde hair off of his face. He murmured something quietly, but kept on sleeping.

Winnie curled her legs up, pleased to be wearing her trousers and a comfortable sweater for the flight. Steve's stage manager had indicated she shouldn't bring all her 'flashy dame clothes' with her, because it wasn't practical, even the dancers would only bring their spangled show outfits, but otherwise dress comfortably. She had lots of clothing like that, preferring trousers to dresses anyways, and she rejoiced in the feeling of her loafers on her feet.

Lucky for her, no one had been on her floor when she'd arrived with Steve and the movers he'd managed to wrangle up at short notice. She had felt a slight pang at leaving Mirabel with no explanation, but had simply written the girl a quick note explaining the whirlwind adventure she was going to take with her new friend. She had known Mirabel wouldn't buy it, but it didn't matter, she didn't really have to.

All her belongings she had Steve send to his old apartment, the mover's laying them out in his spare bedroom. Excepting the one bag of clothing she packed for the trip. She had stopped in to visit her mother briefly, telling her that she was taking a new job on Captain America's crew, and that the pay was good and it was in service to her country. Her mother had been baffled by the sudden change, but as always, accepted it with good humor.

She wanted to write to Bucky, desperately wanted to tell him she'd found Steve, that she was travelling with Steve aka Captain America, and that she missed him so badly it gave her stomach pain. Her letters would never reach him though, and she had no idea where he was stationed, so as per Steve's advice, she decided to wait.

"He'll write you, because he's fine," Steve assured her, "And the letters will go to your mother's house, and we'll be picking them up as soon as we get back from Europe. Boy, won't you feel silly when you get his stack of letters!" He was sweet to say it, Winnie knew that Steve would always be a cheerleader for her, even when it came to her romance with his best friend. But she couldn't shake the negative feeling in her stomach.

It started to rain outside the window, and Winnie wondered what the temperature must be like outside the plane. She leaned forward and reached for the blanket tucked into the seat in front of her, and spotted Steve's blanket in the seat in front of him. She put hers down and reached for his, leaning over him to spread it on top of him. He stirred again and cracked open an eye.

"I don't get cold you know," he muttered to her, and she shook her head, tucking the blanket under his massive arm. "Shut up Steve and let me take care of you," she whispered back. He smiled a little bit and closed his eyes again. Winnie curled her feet up next to herself in the spacious seat and wrapped herself snugly in her own blanket, before turning and leaning her head on Steve's shoulder to fall asleep.

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Italy was not what she expected. It was damp, grey, dreary and muddy. She stood in her knee high rubber boots, wrapped in a sweater and a rain slicker and watched from the side of the stage as Steve's performance flopped sickeningly. The troops didn't seem to care about the Star Spangled Man before them and Winnie winced a little when she heard them catcall her friend and saw Steve grimly soldier on, determined to provide entertainment.

The stage manager was making unhappy grunting noises beside her and Winnie turned to him, raising an eyebrow questioningly. "Think you'd be doing better up there, sweetheart," the grizzled man muttered. Winnie smiled with one side of her mouth and shrugged, feeling certain that the man was probably right.

It was both exhilarating and terrifying being amongst so many men. The moment she and the other girls stepped off the plane, she had never felt so many eyes on her before. Even now, men on the outskirts of the gathered audience were staring at her, smiling at her, winking at her. They were not all gentleman either, so she was happy to stay close the stage and the crew.

"Bring out the girls!" A heckler called, and Steve, sweet Steve who wanted to do anything to help these men that he could, nodded and hurried off stage. Winnie wanted to yell at the rude men, but decided that was likely to achieve nothing and instead ran around the manager, around to the back of the stage, looking for Steve.

She was waylaid by one of the dancing girls. "Hey you! Hair girl, right? Minnie? Can you help a gal out, please?" A buxom blonde stopped her, one side of her outfit ripped up the ribcage. Winnie looked around and saw Steve disappearing into a tent where all his things were. She paused and looked up at the girl holding her suit together.

"Come on then," Winnie relented, feeling like she should at least pretend she was genuinely working with the crew. They ducked into a tent where the girls changed and within about 45 minutes the outfit was re-stitched and ready to go. Winnie ran out, waving off the girl's thanks. She made a beeline for Steve's tent, upset when she found it empty. She sat limply down on his bed and decided it would be better to just wait here for him.

No one was likely to question her waiting in his private tent, they all thought she got the job because she was involved with him, which she felt instinctively that Bucky wouldn't like. _But at least I'm not alone._

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All he could think about was saving those men. As he charged through the rain, he felt in his gut it was the right thing to do. _Why was I given all this strength, all this speed, if I can't use it for more than dancing around a stage? _His heart physically hurt at the thought of Bucky lying dead somewhere, and he felt a wave of nausea knowing he'd have to tell Winnie. _He might not be dead, the Colonel didn't know for certain._ He knew that was a distinction that Winnie might not see.

When he burst back into his tent, preparing to gear up, Winnie was cross legged on the bed, her rubber boots on the ground in front of her. "Where were you?" She demanded, stuffing her feet back into the boots in one quick movement, and leaping to her feet, "I was worried!" She charged over to him and looked up, searching his face. He had hoped to hide his worry, but he knew now that was a stupid idea; Winnie read him like an open book, she always had.

"Steve, what's happened," she said, her voice flat, as if she already knew. Steve put his hands on her shoulders, and took a deep breath, hating that he was the one who had to do this to her.

"Bucky was here, with the 107th," he started, watching as her eyes went as round as saucers and the color drained from her face in a rush, "He, and most of the others, are missing and presumed dead." If he hadn't have been gripping her shoulders, she would have slumped to the ground when her knees gave out. Without a second thought he scooped her up and placed her back down on the bed, kneeling on the ground next to it.

"I'm going after him, Winnie, I'm going to save them, all of them," he promised her. She didn't seem to have heard and just stared down at her hands, at the small engagement ring perched on her finger. He cupped the side of her face for a moment and she still didn't move.

"I have to gather my stuff," he told her quietly, grabbing his bag and digging through it. At that moment Peggy Carter came bursting into his tent, having run after him. "So what? Are you going to run to Austria?" She snapped, and then trailed off as her eyes landed on Winnie, hunched over on the bed as if in pain. "I'm sorry to interrupt," Peggy said hastily, and Steve turned to her quickly, waving her inside.

"Peggy, this is Winnie, my hair dresser," he told Peggy, not certain if he should tell her the truth yet. Peggy's skeptical eyes turned to him, a shrewd expression on her face. "How nice for you," she told him in a flat voice. Steve turned back to his bag, realized what the tone meant and spun back to Peggy, his hands in the air.

"No, no!" He told her, "It's not like that! She's just my friend, nothing more – look!" He grabbed up Winnie's hand and brandished it in the air. "See? She's engaged! And not to me!" Steve cried. Winnie let out a small cry of dismay and wrenched her hand back and he realized what a stupid thing he'd just done, trying to convince Peggy he was still single. Peggy's dark eyes swung to Winnie, her brow drawing down.

"What's going on?" Peggy asked, her eyebrow now going up questioningly. Winnie spun around suddenly, and climbed to her feet, her face still as pale as a sheet. "Steve's a horrible liar," Winnie said, her tone lacking emotion, "We've been friends since we were kids; I've known Steve for years." Peggy glanced at Steve and then her eyes locked down on the ring on Winnie's hand.

"So why is he lying to everyone about you being some kind of stylist?" Peggy immediately asked. Steve dithered back and forth on the outskirts of their conversation, unsure how he could input anything that wouldn't upset either of them.

"Steve's worried if you people know that I know about what happened to him, the way you experimented on him, that you'd ship me off somewhere remote, or something worse," Winnie took a deep breath, her fingers worrying with the ring, "But now I just don't care."

Winnie spun to him, marching over and grabbing his lapel and shaking him a little. "Go get them Steve, bring them home – bring _him_ home," she urged him, "I know you can do it."

"This brings me to my previous questions," Peggy cut in, "Firstly, are you planning on walking there, and secondly, what is going on here?"

"My fiancé was part of the 107th, he's been Steve's best friend since they were children," Winnie answered gruffly, her face suddenly angry, "Does that answer it?"

"Sgt Barnes?" Peggy asked in a softer voice, her eyes moving to Steve's face. He swallowed and nodded, certainty flowing through him again. "Yes, and I'll walk if I have to, either way I'm getting them out," he informed her.

Steve watched as Winnie stepped back, stuffing her hands in her pockets. Peggy looked up at Steve and he saw the spark of something in her eyes. "I have to do this, I'm _going _to do this," he told Peggy firmly, "You said you thought I was meant for more than this," he gestured around the tent that also served as his dressing room, "You have to let me go."

Peggy glanced over at Winnie briefly, and then back up at Steve. "Can we trust her?" Peggy asked him, and he nodded, glancing over at Winnie and meeting her hurt and angry eyes. "Implicitly," he told Peggy.

Peggy moved briskly towards the door, gesturing at him and at Winnie to follow him, her face eager and slightly worried. "You said I have to let you go?" She asked him, and he nodded. She looked over at Winnie and smiled briefly, before turning back to Steve, her eyes softening slightly. "Then I'll do you one better," she told him seriously, "I'll arrange your ride."

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"This can't be a good idea!" Winnie yelled over the roar of the plane's engines. Howard Stark turned to look at her and raised an eyebrow at her. "Anything worth doing is usually a bad idea, sweetheart!" He yelled back. Winnie rolled her eyes at him and looked back at Steve, who was standing with Peggy. She eyed the two of them together and knew for certain that Steve really liked the woman.

Peggy was a little harder to read, but Winnie found that Agent Carter had give-away eyes and when she looked up at Steve, helping him adjust a parachute strap, Winnie saw the same emotion in her eyes. Winnie sat back in her seat just outside the cockpit and looked around the shiny plane. She was a little bit astounded that in a matter of a few days, she'd gone from sad and lonely in New York to this, flying in a millionaire's private plane, with a super soldier, a super spy, on a covert rescue mission that could have them all thrown in military prison.

"You're going to get in a lot of trouble for this!" Steve yelled, and Peggy laughed. "Let me worry about that!" Peggy yelled back at him.

As the two of them discussed transponders and routes, and possible enemy encounters, Winnie turned back to Stark. "Will the transponder work? Will you be able to get him out?" She asked the man worriedly. Stark turned to her, a teasing light in his eyes, which died out when he saw how genuinely worried she was.

"Don't worry sweetheart, it's been tested more than he has – this ain't my first rodeo," he told her. She smiled briefly and then shrieked when the plane was suddenly rocked by what had to be enemy fire.

"Hold on!" Stark yelled at them all, turning his attention to the dash in front of him. Despite gut wrenching fear in her stomach, Winnie stiffened her knees and moved quickly to Steve, who was preparing to open the plane's door. Peggy grabbed Winnie's arm as she moved closer to Steve, apparently to keep her at a safe distance.

"Don't do it Steve!" Peggy cried, "We're taking you all the way!" Steve shook his head and gripped the edge of the doorway, the wind buffeting ferociously against him and against the two women standing a couple feet away from him.

"You've brought me to the doorstep!" He yelled back, before his eyes darted to Winnie. "I'm going to find him, Win! I'm going to bring him back to you!" He assured her. Winnie nodded and swallowed hard before breaking from Peggy's grip and throwing herself at Steve for a brief hug.

"Bring yourself back, too, Captain!" She cried. He met her eyes and smiled and then gently pushed her away. Winnie looked up at Peggy and widened her eyes at the woman, gesturing with chin her towards Steve. Peggy gave her a purposely confused look and merely stepped back to Winnie's side.

The plane rocked sickeningly from a nearby blast and then Steve leapt out and was just gone. Peggy slammed the door shut and they both strapped in as the plane made an abrupt turn out of enemy air space. "Hold on ladies!" Stark yelled back at them.

"Have I mentioned that this is only my second time flying?" Winnie said loudly to Peggy. The agent turned and smirked at her. "And?" Peggy asked in her lilting accent, "How are you liking it so far?" Winnie gripped the seat next to her in white knuckled fear when Stark suddenly dove the plane downwards, and then abruptly to the side again.

"I think I'll take the train next time!"

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"So how much trouble are we in?" Winnie asked nervously, as she sat with Stark and Peggy in the Colonel's tent. Peggy gave her a sidelong look and pressed her lips together briefly before leaning over. "You seem like a nice girl, with phenomenally bad luck, so I'll give you a tip," Peggy told her in a whisper, "Let me and Stark do the talking and you stick to your story of being Steve's friend and engaged to his best friend."

"That's not a story, it's true," Winnie told her, widening her eyes a little to make a point. "All the more reason to stick to it then, don't you think?" Peggy asked her.

"We're not going to get into trouble," Stark told them both easily, "And if it looks dodgy, I'll get the Little Miss here out of the country and back to New York." Winnie glared over at him. "I'm not leaving," she said, "I'm staying until Steve returns." Stark glared at her in return.

"The Captain America Circus has left town, baby," he told her, "There's nowhere for you to stay unless Agent Carter or myself take you in – you're just a civilian." Winnie pressed her lips together and held back the string of awful things she wanted to stay.

Peggy sighed in exasperation and put a hand on Winnie's arm. "If you can stay quiet, do as I say, and remain helpful, in however small a way, then you can stay – I'll tell the Colonel you're Stark's assistant, and _if_ things start looking bad, you _will_ get on a plane with Howard and leave the country," Peggy's voice was firm and Winnie held her serious dark eyes for a moment.

"I will," Winnie finally answered, determined she would do anything to stay here and wait for Steve to return, with or without Bucky. She knew she wouldn't able to withstand the waiting back home, the not knowing, the amount of time it would take for a good or bad answer to finally reach her ears.

The Colonel entered the room, shot a withering look at Winnie, making her feel insignificant and terrible, and then waved a hand at her.

"What are you doing in here?" He asked her brusquely. Winnie opened her mouth to respond, and Stark lifted a hand in the air, catching the Colonel's attention. "She's my assistant," he told the Colonel, "She goes where I go."

"You've got a lot of jobs, Ms. Johnson – I hear you worked in a munitions factory back home, then the abrupt change to Captain America's hair stylist, and now apparently you're assistant to the biggest weapons provider to the US Army," the Colonel spoke in an almost bored voice, but his tone was all authority, very military, "I wonder how a girl like you manages to be so multi-talented." Winnie pressed her lips together and looked over at Peggy.

"Sir, she is here only because she was following orders –", Peggy began. The Colonel barked out a laugh. "Ha! So one person here understands how to take and follow them? Because you sure as hell do not, Agent Carter," the Colonel replied, his tone heavy and angry. Peggy closed her mouth, pressing her lips together as if she would say more, but not being able to.

Winnie sat in her seat trying not to literally shake in her boots. This was all so far above her; she was not military, she was not a genius – she was just following her friend. The Colonel waved an impatient hand at Stark.

"Get out of here Stark, and take your 'assistant' with you," he ordered. Howard jumped to his feet and grabbed Winnie's arm, dragging her out of her chair, immediately. With one last wide-eyed glance back at Peggy, who was staying behind to obviously have a strip torn off her, Winnie allowed herself to be dragged out into the cold night.

Stark walked silently beside her, his hand still clamped on her arm. "You can't stay in the Cap's tent tonight," he told her, his tone serious for once. She glanced over at him and glared at his face. "And what do you propose Mr. Stark? Shall I bunk with you?" She asked him drily. He looked over at her and smirked.

"You been spending too much time around Peg," he replied, raising an eyebrow at her. She kept glaring at him and he shook his head. "You're my assistant, you'll sleep in the other room of my tent, it's safest and it's smartest," he told her. Winnie thought back to the expo, to Stark's crass innuendo.

"I remember you, you know," she said to him. He held open the flap to Steve's tent as she stepped inside and turned on a lamp. "Grab your stuff," Stark told her. She nodded and bent to her bag.

"From the expo in New York," Stark surprised her by saying, "Yeah, I remember. That was some kind of dress you had on; men don't forget a mug like yours, kid." She looked up at him, her eyebrows sky high. She shook her head at the innocent expression on his face.

"Was that your guy, the tall one in the uniform that didn't like my offer too much?" He asked her as she closed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. Winnie surprised them both by laughing, and then slapped her free hand over her mouth, to cover the mirth immediately. Howard stopped just outside the tent door and took her bag from her grasp in one hand, and with his other pulled her hand from her mouth.

"You've got a real live hero out lookin' for him," he told her in an uncharacteristically soft voice, "Steve has been specifically designed by science to be everything he could possibly be; he's nearly unstoppable." Winnie stared back up into the man's dark eyes and finally nodded.

"I hope you're right," she replied, letting him lead her off through the darkened camp towards his tent. Later that night, safe and warm in her bed, in her own 'room' of the tent, Winnie felt her mind spiralling. Away from Stark's patter, Peggy's stiff upper lip, and the shock and surprise of a covert, dangerous mission, her mind seemed almost eager to move back to her worrying thoughts about Bucky. And unlike when she was back home, this was no longer a worst case scenario guessing game. She knew that he was either dead, or in serious, life-threatening danger.

Silently, hot tears dripped down the sides of her face as she tried to force the horrible images of Bucky's battered body from her mind. When she managed to smother those images, they were swiftly replaced with images of Steve in the same condition. She wanted to club herself over the head to force herself to pass out.

Eventually though, the images, the tears, and the fear ebbed away and she did fall asleep. She had nightmares all night.

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The next three days were an absolute living hell for Winnie. She waited around and could do nothing. She actually found herself following Stark around with a notebook and jotting down memos, notes, and ideas for him as he inspected equipment and weapons already at the camp, and some that had recently shipped in. The days dragged, and although no one said anything to her, by the middle of the third morning, she knew they were all losing hope.

She was wandering from her tent to Peggy's hoping to get an update, when she heard the woman's pleasant English accent coming from the command tent. Knowing that she shouldn't, Winnie sidled up behind the last panel anyway and overheard the Colonel chewing Peggy out for Captain America's death. Winnie put a hand over her mouth and choked back the immediate sob locked in her throat.

"Hey, Win! There you are, I need you to come down to the plane with me for a while," she heard Stark call from behind her. She turned to him and he saw her face and his own fell.

"Aw kid, what've you heard?" He asked, approaching her with a crestfallen look on his face. "You know what I heard, don't you?" She asked him, advancing on him and grabbing a handful of material around his collar. "They all think he's dead, even you and Peggy! Am I right?" She yelled at him. Stark looked around and narrowed his eyes for a moment at the waves of men muttering and jogging towards the main gates of the camp.

"Something's going on," he said to Winnie, and she blinked at the sudden worry on his face, and looked around. "Where are they going?" She asked him in concern. Stark shook his head and grabbed her arm, dragging her back in the general direction of his plane.

"I don't know, but let's get you loaded on just in case," he told her. Winnie resisted and he started dragging her. "No, Howard! Let's talk about this! Where is Peggy?" She cried, digging in her heels. She looked over her shoulder and saw the giant crowd of men in a huge cluster around the gate.

She kicked at Stark's shin and he dropped her hand. "Ow, Winnie! Damn it!" He yelled.

"That doesn't look hostile, does it?" She insisted, pointing back at the crowd. Stark stared at the group of men and blinked. "No," he said slowly, "I guess it doesn't. Sorry to manhandle you there sweetheart."

She laughed shortly and turned towards the crowd, gesturing at Stark to go with her. "I want to see what's going on, maybe they've got some news." Stark smiled and plodded along next to her. Winnie froze stock still when a voice rang out from the crowd of men, loud and clear,

"Let's hear it for Captain America!"

"Bucky," she said in a strangled whisper, looking up spastically to Stark. He looked at her in surprise and she suddenly shoved away from him and raced towards the crowds of people, towards where she had heard his voice.

"_Bucky! Bucky!" _She yelled, knocking soldiers down in her haste. "Move it!" She cried at someone directly in her way. She caught a glimpse of Bucky, a few feet away, looking around in confusion. He had heard a voice calling him and couldn't see anyone.

"_Bucky!" _She screamed happily and elbowed the last few men out of the way before launching herself at Bucky. She hurtled into him out of nowhere and he lost his balance, stumbling backwards and landing hard on his behind in the mud. Winnie landed on his lap and clung to him like a spider monkey, showering his face with kisses.

"Oh Bucky, Bucky, you're alive! You're alive!" She cried in glee. She could hear men all around them laughing as Bucky's eyes nearly bugged out of his head at the sight of her. His hands rose in fascination to her face and gripped her like she might disappear.

"Winnie," he said wonderingly, like she was water in a desert, "What are you doing here? How are you here? Oh my god, I love you." He pulled her in for a huge, blistering kiss and Winnie returned it equally as ardently. There was a huge chorus of cheers all around them and they both looked up at the gathered crowd of men, Steve, with Peggy at his side standing nearest to them.

"Oh my," Winnie whispered, suddenly a little embarrassed at being the centre of attention. Bucky gave her a big goofy grin and got to his feet, pulling her up with him. He held her to his side and waved and smiled at the men. Winnie couldn't take her eyes off his face and simply clung to him, deciding she wasn't ever going to let go. Bucky kissed her again and again until they heard throat clearing and she remembered Steve.

Without missing a beat, Winnie jumped over to Steve, hugging him tightly, trying to ignore how weird it was to hug such a giant Steve. "Thank you, Steve! Thank you!" She cried happily, squeezing him once more, meeting Peggy's eyes past his arm. The woman was wearing a large smile and Winnie took a chance, reaching out and grabbing Peggy's hand.

"Thank you for helping us," she said earnestly and Peggy's smile grew. The Agent looked up at Steve with real emotion in her eyes before looking back to Winnie, over to Bucky, and then back to Winnie. "It was the right thing to do," Peggy responded. A hand grabbed Winnie's arm and she was pulled back to Bucky's chest. He smiled down at her and she ran a hand over his stubbly, exhausted face before kissing him again.

"He needs to see a doctor," Steve said, and Winnie narrowed her eyes in concern. Steve started to lead them all back to his tent and away from the crowds, Howard Stark at their backs telling the gathering of men that Captain America would talk to them later. Once they were at his tents, Steve glanced over to Peggy and then over towards Stark, their exchanged glances loaded with meaning.

"Winnie," Steve finally said, "Could you take Bucky to the infirmary, make sure he gets looked after? I'll see you guys later." Winnie nodded, wanting nothing more than to make sure Bucky was alright. She looked up into Bucky's face again and saw the expression in his eyes. He looked hungry, but not for food. Winnie blushed at the look and quickly left the tent with him.

Immediately outside the door he pulled her in for another heated kiss, in an embrace meant to keep her as close to himself as possible. After a minute or two, she heard some whistling and realized they had another small audience. She pulled back from his face and Bucky immediately went for her neck.

"Bucky," she breathed, her voice growing higher in pitch as he found certain sensitive spots, "Oh my… Bucky!" Her yelp pulled him back and she put both hands on his face, holding it away from her own for a moment.

"You have to see a doctor and everyone is watching," she told him breathlessly. He licked his lips and shook his head. "I thought I was never going to see you again," he told her quietly, a near growl in his voice, "I really don't care who watches." She laughed at little at the intensity in his voice and he moved his head, as if to attack her with his lips again. "Bucky," she said, a warning in her voice.

The tone gave him pause and he pulled back, taking a step away. "Am I moving into lamp territory?" He joked with her. She laughed with him and he put his arm around her, pulling her tight to his side while they walked to the infirmary. "I don't want this date to ever be over," she told him, "I don't think you ever need to worry about a lamp over the head in your future."

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"Are you relieved to be home?" Winnie asked Peggy. The agent turned and shot her a small smile. "No," the woman replied. Winnie blinked a little at the answer and looked around the pin-straight room they were in. _You can't call this a bedroom, it's so bland – definitely more like living quarters. _

"You know Peggy," Winnie said, still unfamiliar with using the woman's proper name, even though Peggy had told her it was alright, "I think you should dress up tonight. I brought a couple dresses and I know this one would look lovely on you." Winnie gestured to one of the two dresses she'd brought along when she packed for her tour with Captain America. She had brought it over to Peggy's room with the express purpose of making her wear it. Peggy glanced down at the bundle of red fabric in Winnie's hands.

"I don't believe that would be proper," Peggy finally answered, faintly. "Tonight is about celebration," Winnie told her, advancing on Peggy and holding the dress up to her side.

"We're safe for now, planning the next stage, and I think you and Steve deserve a little down time before he's off again," Winnie insisted, feeling her stomach tumble around restlessly as she tried to push away the knowledge that when Steve left, Bucky was going with him.

"Steve and I are not 'Steve and I'," Peggy replied briskly, turning away. Winnie sighed a little and tossed the dress on Peggy's bed.

"Look, I think you know what you want to do, and I guarantee Steve feels the same way," Winnie told her, walking to the door. She heard Peggy fidgeting behind her and opened the door.

"I hope I see you tonight," Winnie said in farewell, shutting the door softly afterwards. She went briskly down the hall of the barracks they were all staying in, just inside London. She tried not to think about being underground and instead went into her room and shut the door, making a beeline for her bag.

She knew Bucky was likely ready and waiting at the bar for her already. _Pub, it's called a pub you unruly American, you,_ she thought to herself with a giggle. The barracks, the whole base they were in, really, was all underground, heavily guarded, a huge secret. Because of Steve, his involvement in Hydra, what Bucky had seen, and Winnie's involvement with all of them _and_ Howard Stark, the Colonel and Peggy deemed it vital they all go to England, they all stay together, and mostly, Winnie thought, they all stay where they could be watched.

Winnie slipped on her green dress that she knew Bucky loved and she shook her head a little bit. She found it ridiculous that these people, this "Scientific Strategic Reserve", didn't trust Captain America, the man they technically created, or his own allies. She took a look in the mirror and smiled at her reflection. She had taken more pains than usual to dress up for Bucky. Her hair was not overdone, more of simple, loose, rumpled and natural style – her make-up minimal, but her dress fitted and accentuating her figure in all the right places.

She had missed him terribly, but he had missed her more, and after their first hour together back at that camp in Italy, he had seen the doctors in the infirmary, and then the next day he was informed he'd be seeing yet more doctor's and specialists in England. This had worried her, and him, but Steve assured them it was for the best – Bucky had admitted that Hydra did things to him, and he couldn't remember all of it. He certainly had the scars to prove it.

Winnie had broken down into sobs when she's seen his scarred torso, the cuts and stitches and massive injection marks all over the place. He'd insisted he felt fine, but the visits with the doctors were non-negotiable as far as the SSR was concerned. After they were separated here in London for a couple days, Winnie was frantic and Steve had finally stepped in and had the doctors let Bucky leave their care, with promises that he would return if anything at all changed.

Steve had reassured her and Bucky that the doctors were only concerned because Steve himself proved that experiments could have side-effects no one dreamed of. This had made her nervous, but Bucky was still Bucky, so she told herself it was fine. Now she wanted to be with him, make him smile, make his whole face light up, let him forget what he'd been through. She turned to admire the profile her dress gave her; she hoped this would do the trick, at least for this evening.

She rode the elevator up several flights to the bar and wondered if the Scientific Strategic Reserve, or SSR, planned on making her live here, underground, like a mole, while the boys were off doing god knows what. She didn't think she could stand it. The elevator door opened, and after turning down a few secret hallways, she met the guard at the hidden door, who pressed a button for her. She stepped through into the store room of the pub and smiled her thanks at the guard, noting the unabashed look of appreciation on his face when he smiled back.

She made her way out into the bar and knew that she had chosen the right dress by the way everyone turned to look at her for a second. It made her burn with embarrassment after a moment, not really liking such prolonged stares. Then, the man that Steve spoke highly of, the one with the difficult to actually say with a straight face name of Dum Dum Dugan, walked up beside her and smiled kindly at her, his eyes never leaving her face.

"He's in there, ma'am," the man said gruffly. She breathed out in relief and nodded. "Thank you," she said sincerely. He brought his beer to his lips and took a heavy swig, nodding at her as he did. Winnie made a beeline through the crowded pub and found Bucky sitting at the back bar, in a quieter room more removed from the big open area where everyone else seemed to congregate.

She paused in the doorway and after a moment, he looked up from his drink. His face went from the slightly downcast expression it had been wearing, to lighting up like a Christmas tree.

"Winnie," he breathed, climbing slowly off the stool, to his feet, his eyes glued to her, "You look…" He stepped closer to her and she walked towards him from the doorway. He stopped her with one hand up. "Just stand there like that for a minute," he urged her, and she blushed a little and smiled at him uncertainly.

"I want to remember you just like this," he told her, in a low voice, "This is the picture I want to carry around with me." She smiled at him helplessly, nearly melting at such a sentiment. Finally she could take it no longer and threw herself at him, clinging to him around his neck and kissing him in a way that, in or out of a public place, she knew mother would not approve of.

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She was just everything to him. She sat next to him at the bar, drinking a dark beer in tentative sips, and he marvelled at the fact that she was here at all. They'd talked about it, and she explained that it was all pure chance that she found out about Steve, but other than, he couldn't believe her moxie.

She was book smart, gently raised, kind hearted and definitely naïve in the ways of the world – but she'd travelled half way across the globe with her best friend-turned science experiment, lied to the upper levels of the military, flown on a dangerous covert mission under enemy fire, had been best pals with Howard Stark, of all people, for a few days, and was now relaxing at his side in a pub above a huge secret military installation.

He wasn't sure he actually really knew that well, until now, just what she was made of. _How are we going to be normal people after all of this? _He thought to himself. She took a big sip of her beer and promptly gave herself the hiccups, smiling up with flushed cheeks at Bucky. He shook his head in amusement and snaked an arm around her waist quickly, pulling her off her stool and into his lap.

"Oh!" She squeaked, followed by a hiccup. She put a hand to her face and giggled. "Oh my, I think I'm drunk," she told him frankly. He laughed and kissed her, loving the feel of her warm alive-ness in his arms.

"I think you two need to get a room," Steve spoke from behind them. Bucky turned, keeping Winnie in his lap and shot an eyebrow up at Steve. "I think you need a dame," Bucky shot back to his now-huge friend, laughing. Steve rolled his eyes and Winnie gestured at the bar.

"You need to try one of these black beers," she told him exuberantly, leaning forward so far that she would have tumbled to the floor had Bucky not had his arms wrapped around her. Steve shook his head and smiled crookedly at her. "My body burns alcohol too quickly for it do anything," Steve told her. Winnie frowned and looked back up at Bucky's face as if something had just occurred to her.

"How many drinks have you had, Bucky?" She asked him quietly, most of the mirth gone from her voice. He felt his insides clamp down in fear, terrified that she was on the path to figuring out the thing he wanted to hide. He smiled instead and shook his head at her, pulling her closer and pressing his lips to hers.

He was stone sober, despite the drinks he'd been busily plowing through, and she knew it – now he had to distract her. He looked up at Steve.

"We're going to find that room now," he joked lightly. Steve made a face, like he didn't want to hear, until Bucky held up her hand and waved it in Steve's direction.

"Hey, we're engaged now," he said to Steve, who only smirked in response. Winnie laughed too loudly and waved her hand at Steve some more. "He already knew that!" She exclaimed to Bucky. He wrapped an arm around her waist and nodded at Steve, leaving the room.

By the time they got upstairs, to the hallway that led to her room, he noticed she was walking a lot more straightly than he thought she should be. "You're not as drunk as I thought," he murmured at her doorway, as she fumbled with the key.

"I am a little, don't kid yourself, but I mostly was hoping you'd think I was too drunk to stay, and then you'd suggest this," she told him, glancing over her shoulder at him. His smile grew at her words and he began to hope that she was saying what he thought she might be saying.

"Sit down," she told him, shutting the door. He sat on the bed and watched her, out of his element. He'd wanted her for almost a decade, but he wasn't entirely certain he wanted to do this with her here and now, under these circumstances, in this room. It meant a lot to her, he knew, and he knew she would prefer to wait until they were married, not be drunk in a secret military installation, underground, in London.

She kicked off her shoes and dropped her purse to the ground before walking resolutely over to him and sitting down next to him. She picked up his hand and squeezed it in one of hers.

"You love me, don't you?" She asked him carefully. Bucky nodded at her, smiling. "You know I do," he told her. She smiled at him and bent to his hand, gripped in hers, and brushed a kiss against his knuckles.

"Then tell me the truth Bucky, something's off, something's wrong, I can feel it in my bones – please tell me, don't leave me in the dark and take it all on alone," she told him seriously, her eyes dark in the dim light of the room. He felt simultaneously relieved and terrified.

_She knows._

There was only one thing he could do.

Bucky began talking and told her about Dr. Zola, his experiments, and what that meant for him.

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She spent the night with Bucky, and not in any other capacity besides love and comfort. After he'd told her everything, she had embraced him, hugging his dear head to her chest, before laying down on the bed with him and holding onto him. They fell asleep that way, Winnie laying on her back, Bucky's head pillowed on her chest as they gripped each other in arms that seemed afraid to let go.

Her dreams that night were tormented with the images of the things Bucky said they did to him. She woke up crying more than once, only to find Bucky right there beside her, breathing heavily in sleep. She would cling to him tightly, kissing his neck or his face, and then fall asleep, just to be pulled back into the terrible dreams again.

Bucky told her that since the range of experiments he could see better, hear better, even touch and taste things with an astounding level of accuracy he had never possessed before. He told her he had been badly injured when Hydra first captured him and the other men, badly enough that everyone seemed certain he would die. That was why Zola chose him, why he was selected for the experimental injections, the treatments, the blasts of heat and light that Bucky told her he didn't think were humanly possible.

"After the first few injections, and that very first blast of blue light, that's when I started to heal," he had told her in a tight voice, his hands gripping tighter at her own, "I could _feel_ my body piecing itself back together, it was a miracle, but it was terrible." He'd turned his beautiful eyes to hers and she saw the haunting in them, the lingering horror of this experience even now. "It was the worst pain I'd ever felt, that anyone could ever feel," he whispered.

Winnie wanted to hug it all out of him. She was outraged that he'd been experimented on, so callously, so cruelly – but at the same time, if Bucky was right, he would have died without the injections and the otherworldly lights.

When they awoke in the morning, it seemed that many of his demons had been cleansed. "You won't say anything, to anyone, right?" He asked her tentatively. Winnie put her hands on either side of his face and stared into his eyes.

"You know I won't," she told him simply, "Not even Steve. It's you and I, right? We'll handle it together after this is all over." His response was a kiss, gentle and soft.

They walked together through the huge complex, before taking an elevator to the secret airfield the SSR had. There, the rest of Steve's squad, The Howling Commandos they were calling themselves, waited. Goodbyes were said and Winnie stood off to the side with Bucky.

"I just got you back," she said sadly, tears nearly choking her, "Please stay safe, please come back." He had held her close, pressing their foreheads gently together. "I will, you know I will, I'll always come back, I promise," he told her. They had kissed then and he turned to walk away.

"Bucky Barnes!" She called out to him, and he turned, walking backwards as he continued away from her, his eyebrows raised in interest. "I love you!" She told him loudly, her tone as easy as if she was telling him to have a good trip. He grinned at her and saluted her. "You know I do," he responded equally as loudly, in what was becoming a standard response for him. She grinned back and watched him climb on the plane, watched Steve follow, pausing on the steps to wave specifically to Winnie.

"You take care now, Captain," she said, trotting closer to the plane. Steve smiled at her winningly. "You have my word Win," he said.

Then, standing on the tarmac, Peggy, the Colonel, and Howard Stark standing nearby, she watched the plane carry away the two most important people in the world to her, and tried not to show on her face how much her heart was breaking.

The Colonel spoke first, surprising her, "If the world was made of men like them, then we wouldn't need to worry about any wars." He turned to her, eyeing her critically in his hard way. "As it stands, I like their chances," he told her. Winnie nodded and blinked and watched as he turned and walked away. Peggy made to follow and then paused, speaking over her shoulder to Winnie.

"I'll be seeing you around, Winnie," Peggy told her. The agent took a couple more steps away and then paused, turning to look back at Winnie with a slight blush on her face. "And thank you for the dress," Peggy said haltingly, "It turned out you were quite right." Peggy turned away and marched off after the Colonel. Winnie found herself alone with Howard Stark.

"How come you and I keep getting stuck together?" She asked him, smiling a little. He grinned over at her, that definitive Stark smirk. "You and I, kid, we're the normies here, so it makes sense," he explained, only half kidding. She laughed anyway and took his arm when he offered it.

"So what do I do now?" She asked him, "In all the hubbub, I never really found out if I stay here under the SSR's eyes or if I should be going back home." Stark patted her arm and shook his head.

"Is that your resignation?" He asked her, his tone hardly teasing. She stopped walking then, and glanced up at him in confusion. "Resignation?" She asked, her tone confused, "Mr. Stark, perhaps you've finally gone mad, but I don't actually work for you."

He chuckled and pulled her along. "Sure you do, you know, for a fake-assistant, you were pretty good, I could use a liar like you," he said lightly. Winnie pulled on his arm as if to protest when he stopped them again and grabbed her lightly by her shoulders.

"For real, Win, I have a lot of stuff to look into here, a lot to study, I need the help," he urged her, "You're smarter than you let on, damn shame you never got to learn more, so I want your assistance." He tilted his head as he looked at her, continuing on, "Whatdya say? Will you come and be my fake assistant for real this time?"

She smiled at him as her mind raced. Working for Stark meant opportunity, not just for now, but for later in life too, she suspected. It also meant staying close to London which was going to become the home base for the Howling Commandos; she could see Bucky whenever he came back between assignments.

She stuck her hand out to Stark, shaking his hand briskly. "You have a deal, Mr. Stark," she told him.

"Call me Howard."


	4. Chapter 4 - Hail Hydra

_**Chapter 4 – Hail Hydra**_

_**Outside London – 1944**_

On the screen in front of her, Bucky swiped his hair off his forehead and smiled good naturedly at his fellow Commandos. Their leader was gesturing at the map before them as the camera focused on each man in turn.

"_Captain America and his Howling Commandos make it look like fun as they fearlessly risk their lives to take down Hydra and with it, the Nazi Regime."_

The scene cut to all the men charging through the forest, then some hand-to-hand combat, followed by close-ups of Bucky saving Cap's life, covering the hero from a faraway ridge while the Captain scouted a Hydra base.

"_Best friends since childhood, Captain America and Bucky Barnes make a great team – a perfect example of real American courage and loyalty in the fight for freedom." _

"This has got to be staged," Winnie mumbled, looking over to Peggy. The agent smirked and shushed her, but they both giggled when the camera man managed to get a close up of the compass Steve carried with him, with a small picture of none other than Agent Carter stuck inside the lid.

"Oh my," Winnie said, elbowing Peggy lightly, "That's certainly not staged."

"Oh hush, you're ruining it for everyone," Peggy admonished. Winnie looked around at the nearly empty theatre.

"I doubt that somehow," she retorted. They were silent as they continued to watch the newsreel and promos for Captain America and the Howling Commandos. Winnie tried to calm her heart as she watched Bucky dashing across the screen, larger than life and painfully gorgeous. She was both proud and irritated that he'd become something of a heart throb, along with the other boys in the group.

However, her irritation never lasted long when these reels came to an end because they always, always, showed clips of her, Bucky, and Steve together – usually different versions of the same day – when they'd gone fake-sightseeing in New York. The concept had been beyond absurd to her when they'd filmed it about 6 months ago – but the people who managed the 'image' of the Captain and his Commandos had insisted. Who the 'people' who managed them were exactly, she wasn't sure – some kind of combination of the US Government, the US Military, the SSR, and even some international involvement.

"But we grew up here," she had said indignantly, as a make-up girl had powdered and primped her into someone she hardly knew. Bucky had been watching her with avid interest as she was made up into the perfect all-American girl, someone that every soldier would want to fight for, and the kind of good woman that every girl back home wanted to be.

The friendship between the three of them was well played up, and all the pictures that anyone could lay hands on of the three of them had made its way into the public eye, into these reels. Even the one of herself and Bucky she so cherished.

"_Bucky Barnes fights hard, knowing that at home his girl, the adorable Winnie Johnson, waits for him, and waits for the Commandos and their fearless leader to bring home freedom."_

"_And a kiss!" _The insipid on-screen Winnie said, in a syrupy sweet voice, just before leaning over on the bench she was seated on and planting a smooch on a faux-surprised Bucky's cheek. The screen faded away from the two of them to Steve, somehow inexplicably still wearing his Captain America uniform on their sightseeing trip, as he shrugged his shoulders and smiled like the two of them were incorrigible.

The story of how she and Steve had met was twisted, with Steve coming to her rescue from a bully, with his trusty pal Bucky backing him up. Winnie _did_ grumble at that.

"_I don't like a bully, at any age, in any place," _Captain America said on screen, sternly eyeing the camera before breaking into a smile, "_Help me fight the good fight, not just here against the enemy, but every day, everywhere, at home, at school, or on the street. No one should live in fear."_

"This might be making me crazy," Winnie mumbled, before Peggy laughed. "You're the one who insisted we see a movie tonight," Peggy told her, "I have many things I could be doing instead." Winnie looked over at her and rolled her eyes.

"We've both been working hard lately, we deserved a night off: no SSR, no Colonel Grumpy, and definitely no Howard Stark," Winnie told her. Peggy laughed and finally the movie began and they could sink into the silly nothing of the show.

Winnie found her mind wandering, despite her claims that she wanted to take a night off. Her work with Stark had indeed taken her everywhere, and she was actually somewhat proud to say that she had been blown up twice because of his work. Not injured badly, but certainly thrown across the room with some of her bangs burnt off. Winnie smirked a little and lightly patted the pinned back bit of her bangs that would take months to right themselves.

He wasn't a bad man, Howard Stark, and, in fact, the more time she spent around him, the more she realized just how earnestly he did want to help; not just help the Commandos, but the world, the war effort. He loved his money, and his bachelor freedom, but he certainly loved solving problems and helping people by doing so as well – although he would swear up and down it wasn't so.

It had been a year since Steve, Bucky, and the others went off on their first mission, and that mission was a brilliant success. The group had indeed made it look easy and fun to take out the Hydra installation they went for. Bucky had returned to the SSR base just two weeks after he first left and they had a couple days together.

Thus began a cycle that continued without end over the next 11 months – he'd ship out with Steve and the Commandos, she'd worry herself sick and be forced to throw herself into her work with Stark to get past it, and then they'd return victorious and regaled as heroes. Somehow over that unrelenting cycle of fear and hope, she and Peggy grew closer. Glancing over at the somewhat reserved agent now, Winnie wondered how it was possible they were friends.

Peggy seemed to feel her stare and looked over, smiling a little, before looking away again. Winnie wondered what was going through the woman's head. Peggy and Steve had a strange relationship – they were each clearly treasured by the other, but they danced around each other, neither ever taking that final leap into anything beyond making eyes at one another.

Winnie thought back to Bucky, his promise that at the end of 1944, if the war was still on, he'd marry her anyway – they were both tired of waiting and she was nearly frantic to call him hers in some official sense. It felt somehow more permanent that way, like she was less likely to lose him if she and he were linked through more than just their promise. Everyone said the war had to end soon, so she hoped the two events could coincide, so she didn't have to marry him and then have him whisked away again.

The world hadn't taken long to notice the work of the Commandos or their Captain. After the first few missions, rumors flew amongst the military – all the military in the world, not just the US. It only took a couple weeks more before the press picked up on it, then another month before the Colonel gave the ok to the camera crews joining the Commandos every now and then, and a month after that the promos were out in full force and then Winnie was pretending to sight-see as a dizzy dame with Bucky and Steve.

Of course, Hydra was noticing as well. Death threats and attempts on their lives were common. Bucky had argued until he was blue in the face with her, telling her she needed to get further from Hydra's reach, back home to the States, out of Europe. Steve had backed her up on that one, telling Bucky that Dr. Erskine hadn't been safe in Brooklyn, and neither would she. She was after all with Howard Stark and a top SSR agent most of the time, not to mention the fact that she lived in the SSR's secret installation beneath London.

"No attempt has been made on me, Bucky, they don't care about me – you all are the real threats," she had tried to soothe him. He'd glared at her and pulled his hands from hers. "If everyone else has seen that little newsreel, then so has Hydra, they'll know that you, _and Peggy,"_ he had turned and glared pointedly at Steve at this, "Are important to Steve and I, and they may come after you."

It was all very sweet of him to be so worried, but even the Colonel didn't think Hydra would waste it's time with chasing down women – it had bigger fish to fry with Captain America busting down their doors every couple weeks. She'd noticed that Bucky had grown hyper aware of a lot of things over the past year, and in the whispered conversations they had cuddled together in her room at the SSR, he told her that the effects of the experimentation did not seem to be lessening, if anything it was getting stronger.

"I'm running faster, Win," he'd told her the last time, his face a picture of worry as he lay his dark head next to her on the bed, "I have to fake it, pretend that I'm not, slow down on purpose." She had swallowed hard, running a hand comfortingly through his hair.

"I think I'm as fast as Steve now," he had murmured, turning his face into her palm, which had slid from his hair to touch his face. His breath had been warm on her skin as he breathed her scent in and out through her hand, as if seeking to calm himself.

"I may be nearly as strong as him, too," Bucky told her, his eyebrows drawn together in worry. "I got shot this time," he held a hand up to her mouth, gently placing his fingers over her lips to hold back her immediately protests of concern, "I healed, within the day – had to pretend like I had been wrong, that I hadn't been shot."

Bucky had sat up and then drew his knees up, hooking his elbows around them, Winnie following him and repositioning herself to sit in front of him. "If they knew just how well the experiments worked, I think the SSR would haul me back in and treat me like a lab rat," he turned haunted eyes to her as he said this, and she knew he was thinking about his time in Hydra's clutches, "I can't do it again, I don't think I can handle being treated like that, being tested and cut on…"

He trailed off and Winnie had thrown herself at him, hugging him tightly, kissing his face and neck and moving onto his chest, clad only in its sleeveless shirt. "I love you," she had whispered to him, her mouth against his warm skin. "You know I do," he'd replied quietly.

Sitting in the theatre now, Winnie shivered a little at the memory, how he'd reciprocated, how they came close, so very close to doing the kinds of things she had told herself a million times they needed to wait until they were married to do. _It's becoming awful hard to wait,_ she thought wryly, thinking of the form he cut when he was relaxed and all hers behind a closed door.

A hand clamped down on her arm tightly and it took her a moment to realize it was Peggy, the gesture was so unlike her. Turning in confusion to her friend, she saw that Peggy had a huge fake smile plastered on her face, while her eyes were tense and panicked. "Oh Winnie!" Peggy said softly, in a playful voice, "That scene reminds me of something truly scandalous I meant to tell you!" Winnie simply stared at her, completely lost.

Peggy leaned to her ear, as if to share a secret, and hissed in a heavy warning whisper, "There are 8 men in the theatre right now, they've all drawn weapons and are all easing their way towards us." Peggy leaned back and laughed a little, girlishly, before putting her mouth to Winnie's ear again "They must be Hydra. Smile at me." Winnie found she could barely breathe and pulled a little away from Peggy, feeling a fake smile stretching her lips grotesquely.

Peggy pulled her close as if they were hugging excitedly over whatever news Peggy had just shared, Winnie even managed a maniacal sounding giggle. "I'm going to count to three and then you are going to drop to the floor and stay down and crawl towards the back door, understand? Don't come back for me, I can handle myself, get away, and call Stark, immediately."

"Oh Peggy, you silly girl, of course I will!" Winnie replied, surprised at the growing strength in her voice. Peggy nodded at her and pushed her away playfully. Winnie kept her eyes locked on Peggy's mouth which was silently counting. When her lips mouthed 'three', Winnie shot to the floor and immediately dove further down their row of seats.

She heard gun shots roaring and the sounds of punching and grunting behind their row. Peggy was fighting them off back there and Winnie desperately wanted to help but knew she'd be useless; she had no training, no weapons, and no way to really defend herself. She crawled, army style, as quickly as she could, shuffling around and under rails and seats. When she made it to the door, she took a deep breath and looked back, only to see that Peggy and the men were gone.

She darted out the door and ran as fast she possibly could down the darkened alley, into the street. The streets were empty as well, and this was doubly ominous to her. In all the time she and Peggy had been to see the shows here, it was never this quiet, this empty. Her heels clicked sharply as she raced down the cobblestone street.

Winnie's head was swinging wildly around looking everywhere for a threat, and for help. She found nothing and kept running, turning down random streets at will, racing until her lungs burned. She finally saw the comforting red of a telephone box and hurried to it. She got inside and slammed the door, her breaths sounding loud and harsh in the small space. Peering out the window, she saw the streets were still empty and immediately placed a call to Howard.

"Stark here," he answered casually, music in the background. "Howard? Howard? I need your help! Hydra is here! I think they have Peggy!" She stammered out, her voice shaking with the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

"Whoa, whoa, kid, calm down! Winnie? Where are you? What happened? Are you all right?" His own questions were numerous and rushed and she heard shuffling and banging in the background and knew that whatever Stark had been doing, he'd stopped and was obviously readying to assist.

"They came for us, 8 of them, we were at the shows tonight and they came and Peggy made me run and now I'm a couple blocks away calling you – I need you to come get me!" She cried, tears of panic finally starting to fall.

"I'll be there, I promise kid, stay put, I'll be right there –" His response was interrupted by a tremendous crash on Winnie's side of the phone followed by her shrill, terrified screaming and the heavy sounds of a struggle.

"Winnie? Winnie! _Winnie are you there!"_ Howard Stark screamed into his phone, knowing there would be no answer, before launching himself into action, praying it wasn't already too late.

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Winnie came to slowly, in varying stages of pain and discomfort. The back of her head was throbbing, and she could feel a cold wetness on her neck that she was beginning to think was blood. She knew for a certainty it was blood dribbling into her right eye, likely from whatever felt like it was on fire on her forehead. _Mother says cuts on your head bleed worse than they look,_ she thought disjointedly.

Her eyes rolled painfully from side to side, trying to drink in her surroundings. By the bump and grumble coming through the floor she was sitting on and the wall she was leaning against, she had to guess she was in a moving vehicle. Other than that, it was fairly dark, only vague outlines and dark shadows were visible around her.

She risked a peek down at herself and immediately regretted the action; moving her head downwards unleashed a boulder of pain at the back of her head that tore a red hot path through her brain until it connected with her forehead, obliterating everything. She gasped in a strangled breath of pain and hung her head, panting.

_What happened? Why are you here? Why are you hurt? Think Winnie! Think! _She mentally screamed at herself and tried to calm her breathing down, forcing herself to tie her breaths to the rhythmic sound of something else in the back of this vehicle with her, something that was clicking and clacking. After a few choking, gasping minutes, Winnie was able to think, however cloudily, about what was going on.

_Howard… the phone booth… that man…_Now she was able to replay the last moments before she was greeted by darkness. A huge man had approached the phone box, rushing up out of nowhere and using some kind of battering ram to smash through the windowed door of it. Winnie had been caught brutally by the door and smashed through the back wall of the box, the glass and metal slicing her everywhere. The huge dark shape of the man had approached her and grabbed her up roughly. She only realized she had been screaming when suddenly the sound of it was gone, because he had knocked her breath out of her lungs as he flopped her on his shoulder.

Hydra had her, of that she was certain, and she had absolutely no idea what to do. A sharp pain assailed her insides, and she looked down at her torso, trying to figure out why it looked so strange. When her battered and aching hands managed to flutter down over top of the metal bar protruding through her stomach, obviously impaled straight through her midsection, she cried out, the sound whimpering and pathetic. She knew logically it must have been from the phone box, when she was thrown through the back wall, but somehow she couldn't get the disturbing image of someone slamming it through her body on purpose, out of her mind.

Her breath was becoming more and more pained, and more and more hysterical. She was trying to fight the waves of it, but just then the vehicle she was in must have driven through a well-lit portion of road and some of the light splashed in, over top of her legs and she saw their ruin. Bone was sticking out, as were long chunks of glass.

That was when she started to scream, whispering and weak at first, like a frightened kitten, and then her vocal cords warmed up and her shrieks of pain and fear became well rounded and high pitched. The vehicle came to an abrupt stop and she was thrown to the side, feeling the metal bar in her midsection jolting _inside_ of herself. Her screams grew louder yet and suddenly a couple voices, angry English voices, came from the front of the vehicle, moving along to the back of it and she had a few brief seconds of hope that she was being rescued, before the doors were wrenched open and an angry man leaned in with a very large needle, which he promptly slammed into her neck.

She felt burning hot liquid spread through her throat and then the blessed, sweet darkness claimed her again.

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"If you want to weaken or kill your enemy, than surely the most powerful method of doing so is through the ones he values most," a thick German accent spoke those words above her and Winnie began the swim to the surface of consciousness again. She was no longer in the dark, moving vehicle, and she blinked blearily and saw the sickly yellow and green walls of a hospital around her.

Struggling to lift her head, she realized this couldn't possibly be a hospital, not unless hospitals were typically equipped with things straight out of a science fiction. There were people by the equipment down past the end of the bed. "It has never been tested on a woman before," a voice spoke above her head, and Winnie tilted her neck to try and see above herself.

There was a small man, with round spectacles, standing there with a red-haired man. _So red,_ she thought in confusion.

"Herr Zola, I do not care about those details, do as you are told," an angry voice spoke in its harsh accent, and Winnie realized the red-haired man was speaking, not the smaller man. Her vision was so blurry, she kept blinking and trying to focus. Now there were two little men and three red-haired men, now they were merged into one person.

"If we make her a weapon, a weapon against him, I cannot think to see us fail," the red-head growled in eagerness. The smaller man nodded, and something went off in Winnie's head, trying to make her remember something. _His name_, she thought urgently, _I know his name! It means something!_

"Zola," she croaked, unable to help herself. Zola turned to her and his lips twitched in what may have been an attempt at a smile. He rounded the bed she was laying on and reached for something near her head. "You should not be awake," he admonished her, as if she were misbehaving.

Winnie could feel her heart beat pattering along at an alarming rate, and realized she would do anything in the world to have Bucky or Steve or Mother, or _anyone_, show up to save her right now. She heard a few clicks and realized that whatever he was doing was tightening things attached to her neck, chest, wrists and calves. She could even feel twinges down her spinal cord.

"Please," she breathed, catching Zola's eyes again. He yanked his hands back from her and his gaze darted up from her to someone coming along the other side of the bed. Winnie assumed it was the red haired man. "You will likely die," the red haired man said, "But if not, it will be very interesting to see what you become, how we may use you to destroy your friends."

She turned her head to him and felt like she had been submerged directly into a nightmare. This was not a red haired man. This was a man who was red, his whole face and neck, were blood red, hairless, perhaps even skinless. She had never in her short life encountered anything akin to the horror before her and she began to scream again. These weren't the lusty screams from the vehicle earlier, or the shrieks of fear from the phone box. Her throat felt jagged and broken, and each scream pained her.

These were the screams of someone too terrified to stop themselves, someone who was snapping from reality and unwilling and unable to understand that their own screams were hurting them.

Mercifully, Zola shoved a mouth-sized piece of rubber through her lips, between her teeth, and her hoarse, scraping screams were muffled. He closed something metal over her face, mostly obscuring her vision and that was when it felt like she was being stabbed by a thousand burning blades, all up and down her body.

Her old friend, the wave of darkness, came to call again, and she was once again pleased to greet it.

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The third time she woke up, the pain was gone. Winnie opened her eyes and looked around the grey room she was in. She sat up and could see now that she was in something like a jail cell. She moved carefully, vaguely remembering that the last few times she awoke, she was in ghastly amounts of pain.

Nothing hurt. Winnie looked at her arms and grimaced at the scars up and down them. She swallowed hard when she realized she was a wearing a sleeveless shirt, much like the ones Steve and Bucky wore under their shirts. It felt wrong. Suddenly she reached for the hem of the shirt and yanked it up, expecting to see her stomach in ruins, perhaps even with the metal chunk still sticking out of it. She gasped when all she was greeted with was her pale skin, badly scarred where the metal had been, but closed up and healed. She ran a hand over the tea saucer sized scar, astounded that she was well.

Her gaze moved to her feet, which were bare, and the dark blue pants she was wearing, something that looked like men's pajama pants. Reaching for the legs, she pulled up the fabric and was again greeted with scarred but otherwise healthy, healed limbs. Winnie climbed to her feet and stood, feeling steady. With a twinge of panic that began in her gut and raced up to her head, she realized by the wounds she had sustained, their severity initially, and the way they were fully healed scars now; there was no way it could be anything less than _months_ since she had been snatched by Hydra.

Winnie looked around the little room and there wasn't much there. A bed, bolted to the floor, with a thin, flimsy mattress on top. A metal toilet. The door. That was it. She sat on the bed again. Looking down at her hands, Winnie wondered what happened now, how they might hurt her now. She was remembering bits and pieces, the hospital bed, the multitude of injections, being electrocuted (or at least it felt like that).

She stood up in a hurry when her mind presented her with a ghastly image of the red man. Her fists clenched and unclenched in worry as she thought about him, about things he and Zola said. She was no idiot, she was assuming that whatever they had done to Bucky, whatever had been done to Steve – Hydra was trying to replicate it, to grow it, improve it.

"I'm not a weapon," she murmured to herself, raising her hands to run them through her hair. She gasped in horror when she realized it was gone, all her hair, was gone. There was a thin stubble over the top of her head, and that was it. She remembered Bucky stroking her hair, rubbing his face in it, playing with her hair and telling her silk had nothing on her. She backed up until she was in the space between the wall and the end of the bed. It was a small space, but she backed in and sat down, knees to her chest, shorn head tucked down against them. She began to cry into her knees; huge, heartbroken sobs.

Those days with Bucky were gone, she felt it in her gut. No one was coming to get her, she'd been here too long; if they were going to find her, they would have already. She figured the war was lost, the Commandos lost, perhaps even Steve himself lost. She didn't know what Hydra planned to do to her, but she no longer cared. She continued to pour her heart out through her tears, face mashed against the stiff fabric of her pants.

Next to her, unseen while she drowned in her sorrow, the mattress had risen off the bed and was floating mid-air, vibrating at an intense speed.

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The monotony of her days passed in an unending succession. A masked Hydra agent came and grabbed her by her arm and dragged her barefoot down the dim halls, past other cells where she could occasionally hear mechanical noises and loud screaming. Their destination would be a huge empty space, something like an airplane hangar.

There they would shout at her to run, and she would, clearly never achieving the speeds they wanted her to. In fact, she was certain that she wasn't running quickly at all; she never had been a great athlete. Then they would try and get her to lift heavy things, which she failed miserably at. A doctor, not Zola, would come and poke and jab at her for a while, taking blood and skin samples.

This doctor gave her the creeps when not much else seemed to penetrate the haze of constant hopelessness around her. She made an effort _not _to learn their names here, but she was certain this one tall, thin doctor with the white head of hair was called Reinhardt.

"Now," he would say, the same every day, "Show me what you can do." And she would look dully at him, as she did every day, and reach her hand towards a chair across the room and move it. The piece of furniture would slide across the floor, a deep metallic shriek coming from its metal legs scraping the metal floor. She would stop it next to Reinhardt and then drop her arm limply.

He would have her move several other objects and she would, with varying degrees of success, before she was mentally exhausted.

"Now," he would say, "Lift _me_." She would raise both hands to him and strain slightly against the resistance in her mind, before dropping both her arms to her lap.

"No matter," he would mutter to himself in his thick accent, notating something in his notebook. It was the same, every day.

The cycle churned on and Winnie assumed this was hell, that she was being punished for something she couldn't remember doing. Her ability, this newfound power in her mind, did not impress her. She didn't want to learn about it, or work with it, or test it. Hydra took everything from her and left her with this useless power. She didn't much care about moving a chair or a cup of coffee. If she couldn't use it to snap the necks of the people around her, it was useless to her. She was trapped and ruined, no matter what.

"You do not get any stronger my dear," Reinhardt told her one day, shattering the monotony of her days. Winnie swung her head to him in surprise, thrown completely off-kilter by these extra words he'd chosen to speak today.

"You do not get any faster," he continued, getting to his feet and pacing, tapping his pen against his lower lip. "Your blood continues to show the effects of the initial changes Zola started in you; you heal quickly and well," he turned to her, "But do not think you are immortal my dear, not even Captain America is immortal, ya?" Something flickered inside her and she turned her deadened eyes to him.

"Oh, you do not know?" He asked her with mocking curiosity. She clenched her teeth and got to her feet, shaking her head. "The Captain is dead, my dear, he killed Herr Schmidt and then he died, crashing like any mortal would into the ocean depths," his voice was cruel, and all she could think about was Steve Rogers, the boy she loved like a brother, her best friend.

Reinhardt didn't seem to have expected the chair to fly off the floor and it hit him in the chest, both man and chair flying across the room. She couldn't move people, but she could certainly use _things_ to move people with. Winnie glared at him, advancing slowly, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides as she pressed the chair legs firmly against his throat and his chest from across the room. He was turning purple, gasping and gargling, and she heard heavy footsteps stomping towards the door to this exam room.

One of her hands flew up towards the door and the men were denied access. She continued to advance on Reinhardt, her eyes furiously narrowed. He gasped and choked and she knew he had moments before he would be dead.

Taking a large shuddering breath, Winnie unclenched her one remaining fist, the hand dropping limply to her side. The chair dropped with a clatter and Reinhardt slammed to his knees, his hands flying to his bruised throat as he gagged and choked-in the oxygen his lungs craved.

He was smiling though and through his gasps of shredded air, she could tell he was chuckling. Her other hand dropped to her side and the men on the other side of the door burst into the room. Reinhardt climbed to his feet, bent slightly at the waist, waving his hands at them to urge them to wait.

He walked towards Winnie, shaking his head in amazement while one of his hands rubbed at his throat. "You have been well worth the wait," he said to her in a gargled voice. He glanced over her shoulder and suddenly several strong arms wrenched her hands behind her back and held her head still.

Reinhardt crossed the room, to pull out a little drawer from the wall. He withdrew a large syringe and approached her. "Herr Schmidt is dead, as I said, and we must leave this place, go to a more secure facility," he told her, carefully flicking his finger against the side of the tube on the syringe. He paused and grimaced, clearing his throat lightly and rubbing gently at his neck again with his free hand.

He flicked a hand in the direction of the hallway. "The others here, they are useless to us," he told her. Her insides cringed in the very slightest way; she assumed that meant those other people would die. "You my dear would prove useful once we can harness what it is that gave you this beautiful ability," his voice was just as cruel, but he raised his eyebrows at her as if she was expected to thank him.

He shook his head and walked closer. "You are such a rude girl," he told her accusingly, "For that, I will not share with you who else we bring with us, who else is useful in this facility, ya? There is another." She blinked at him in a vacant way and he raised the syringe to her neck. "You will be frozen for a little while my dear, until I can unpack you, and then we will discover what makes you special," his voice was a hiss as he inserted the syringe into her neck.

The burning sensation that spread was nearly familiar to her now and she started breathing a little quicker to try and control her response to the pain. She began to sag in the arms holding her and she turned her head up to regard Reinhardt, watching him hiss his parting words to her,

"And discovery requires experimentation."


	5. Chapter 5 - Fall of the Commando

_**Chapter 5 – Fall of the Commando**_

_**1944 – SSR Base, London**_

"Where is everyone?" Bucky mumbled as they climbed off the plane. Steve looked around at the relatively bare tarmac. He glanced back to meet Bucky's eyes and knew immediately his friend assumed the worst. Steve had to agree he wasn't feeling great about the lack of a welcome party when they landed, at the very least Winnie should have been out here, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she impatiently waited for the plane to land so she could run inside it and fling herself at Bucky like a flying squirrel. He glanced back at the other men and noticed that everyone seemed on high alert now.

They made it to the elevator and they rode it down in silence. "I'm sure everything is fine," Steve said aloud, almost more to reassure himself than anyone else. The doors opened and they hurried through the halls until they got to the center of the underground complex, the command hub. Finally, they found people. Howard Stark and Peggy Carter stood anxiously side-by-side, the Colonel lurking in the background, sitting tense and angry in a chair almost on the other side of the room.

"What's the matter?" Bucky asked, putting his things down with a thump on the ground. Steve saw his friend's eyes scan the room, obviously searching for Winnie.

"Peggy," Steve said, stepping forward, catching her sorrowful dark eyes, "Tell us." Peggy's wounded eyes darted to Bucky, quickly, barely noticeable, but Steve saw it and he knew. His whole frame sagged as he clutched at a nearby table, trying to keep his balance. Bucky hurried to his side, startled by his friend's collapse. He saw Steve's face and then looked over at Peggy and finally took in her grief, her sorrow, her pity; it was all etched so clearly across her face, impossible to miss.

"No no no," Bucky said in low voice, backing away, putting his hands up and shaking his head as if to say he wasn't going to have any part in this. Steve stood up straight and reached for Bucky, urging him to stay put. "Where is she? Where is she Peggy? Where? _Peggy!"_ Bucky yelled her name and took one step towards her, pointing a shaking finger at her. "_Where is she?!"_ Bucky yelled, his tone furious and strained.

Peggy jumped a little and swallowed hard, glancing over at Steve before turning her wet eyes to Bucky and shaking her head repeatedly. "Hydra," she managed to say, and didn't get to continue. Bucky spun on his heels and shoved through the other Commandos, who had stood gathered silently, in respectful mourning, behind them. Bucky took off down the hall and Steve glanced at Peggy. Her dark eyes met his again and she pressed her lips together tightly.

"I'm so sorry Steve," she managed, "We were at the cinema, they must have staked it out, no one was there, there were too many for just me, they overwhelmed me and she ran." Steve felt bile roiling in his stomach sickly as imagined Winnie running for her life, unarmed, alone, and terrified. It left him nearly light-headed with horror.

"She called me, she called me for help," Stark put in, his voice for once devoid of its typical playfulness, only hard and firm, "She was on the phone and I heard… I heard it happen." Steve braced himself against the table again and then they all jerked when they heard the far off noise of Bucky screaming in rage and upset.

Steve cast a quick look over at Dum Dum, and the two of them raced off down the hall Bucky had gone down. They heard smashing and found Bucky destroying the kitchen, smashing everything around him, while he incoherently screamed.

"Bucky!" Steve called, and Bucky turned quickly to him, his jaw clenched, his lower lip turned out just slightly as he struggled with his grief. Steve stepped towards him and suddenly Bucky pounced on him, backing Steve up with a thud into the wall. He gripped a hand on Steve's neck and stood at arm's length, his tormented face twitching and jerking as he tried to settle on which emotion to really feel first.

"You said she'd be safe here," Bucky finally said, his teeth gritted and his voice a furious growl, "You said they wouldn't go after her!" Steve shook his head. "I'm sorry Bucky," he murmured. Bucky released his neck and stood back, clenching and unclenching his fists before charging him, pushing Steve's shoulder into the wall while his other finger jabbed into Steve's chest violently, with each word.

"She can't be dead! You _said_ she'd be safe! She can't be!" Steve watched miserably as Bucky's anger began to ebb away. Bucky slammed Steve's shoulders a couple times into the wall, and Steve's eyes bounced past Bucky to Dum Dum, standing in the doorway. Silently he urged the other man to go away and not interfere. With sad eyes, Dum Dum yanked the bowler hat from his head, squeezing it in his huge fists, before nodding at Steve and leaving the two of them alone.

"You said," Bucky repeated, his voice scratching and ragged with grief. He turned his watering eyes up to look at Steve, pained confusion on his face, like he didn't know how to feel this sad. Steve put a hand on the back of Bucky's head, gripping his friend's hair.

"I'm sorry Bucky, I'm sorry," Steve said, over and over. Bucky finally collapsed against him, and Steve gripped him in a tight hug and let his best friend sob out his raw sorrow over the girl he loved.

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Steve had told him not to find out, to rest, to let it all out of his system, but Bucky couldn't rest without knowing.

Peggy and the Commandos were all gone by the time they got back to the command area and only Stark was left, sitting hunched in a chair, his head in his hands. When he heard them and looked up, he leapt to his feet, anxiety on his face as Bucky approached him.

"How," was all Bucky said, glaring at Stark in a way that he knew would get him the answers he had to have. Stark swallowed spastically and nodded before stepping a few paces away, for safety Bucky thought.

"She was in a phone box, one of those red metal and glass ones," Stark explained in a flat voice, his tone unhurried and unhappy, "Something smashed in the front door, drove it into her, right through the back wall and into the street." Bucky swallowed hard and fought the urge to vomit. His mind was all too happy to provide him with the gruesome image.

"There was so much blood there, too much blood, we knew she had to be dead," Stark finished morosely. Bucky's head snapped up. "What do you mean? Where is her body?" He demanded, his voice nearly furious. Stark glanced over at Steve, and then back to Bucky.

"There wasn't one, they took it with them," Stark explained gently, "But the blood, Bucky, there was no way she could have survived those kinds of injuries." A battle began inside of Bucky at that moment. Half of him was nearly out of his mind with grief, the other with relief. _No body, there was no body, she has to be alive,_ he thought frantically.

He turned to Steve, his eyes pleading, and was surprised to find Steve's face also growing with dawning hope.

"This is Hydra, Stark," Steve said, his tone authoritative, "Nothing is what it seems." Bucky was nodding along foolishly, desperate to find any thread to cling to. Stark was shaking his head. "You don't understand – ", the man began, but Bucky shook his head and cut him off.

"No, no, she's not dead, no," he pressed his lips together and drew in several ragged breaths, trying to cool down, "Why take her body if she was dead? Why not leave it for us to see, to mourn?" Steve walked swiftly to his side and Bucky glanced over to see his friend nodding vigorously.

"Hydra has no need for dead bodies, none at all, they wouldn't take her body, it makes no sense," Steve continued. Bucky felt like his chest was lifting with hope. "Do you really think so?" They heard Peggy speak from behind themselves. Bucky turned and saw Peggy and the Commandos back again.

"Damn straight," Bucky said, his voice hoarse but gaining strength with each passing minute, "If they've got her at a base, then we rip them all apart until we find her."

Dum Dum stepped forward, past Peggy and stared hard at Bucky, then Steve, before looking back at the rest of the Commandos, meeting their eyes in turn. He turned his grimly determined face back to Bucky.

"Let's go get her," he said. Bucky looked over at Steve and received another nod. "She may not have much time, wherever she is, so we need to be smart, plan which places to strike, in which order – got it?" Steve asked, his tone hard and brusque. Bucky nodded.

Hours later, they were all retired to their rooms, to try to snatch as much sleep as they possibly could. He couldn't even get drunk to drown the pain and frantic worry he was drowning in. Bucky laid on his back in her room, on her bed, that smelled so much like she did. He was gripping his head tightly between his hands, as if he could somehow hold himself together against the onslaught of images in his brain. Her attack, her injuries, her fear, being held prisoner. He shuddered because he knew how Hydra was to their prisoners.

Bucky knew it was futile to hope that they would be gentle with a woman, and only prayed that were content to lock her up and leave her be. He imagined her smiling mouth saying, "I love you." Over and over again her voice saying those words raced through his mind.

He turned on his side in her bed and curled her pillow up to his face, before whispering to the phantom girl in his head, "You know I do."

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Nothing went the way Steve wanted it to go, and certainly not the way that Bucky had wanted it to go.

It took months before Bucky seemed to accept defeat, long after each and every one of them had already silently succumbed to the acceptance of her death.

Steve watched his friend's spirit grow more and more crushed and deflated. Each rock they overturned revealed a nest of Hydra criminals scurrying about beneath it, but nothing more. No one knew anything about her, had heard anything about her – she had simply vanished.

Bucky was beyond thorough in interrogations, to the point where Steve had him removed. His friend simply became unhinged at the thought of his fiancé being swallowed into the inner workings of Hydra and disappearing. When the Colonel had approached Steve with missions that needed to be carried out for public safety, for the benefit of the world, he knew they had to call their search off.

It took Steve an entire day to build up the courage to face Bucky, to bring him the news that they were letting go now, that they _had_ to let go now. When he was finally ready, he found Bucky in Winnie's room, sitting on her bed, surrounded by her things, as he always was, pretty much every moment they were in the SSR facility.

He approached Bucky cautiously and his friend turned dull, emotionless eyes to him. "I know why you're here," Bucky told him, nodding slightly at the air in front of himself, "I understand. I'll be there." Steve froze in place, not certain he could believe it was actually going to be that easy.

"Her mother," Bucky said, making Steve's head jerk up, "We have to give her closure, let her bury her daughter." Steve noticed that Bucky wouldn't say Winnie's name and felt a spike of pain lance through his chest. The arrangements took very little time. Peggy and Bucky took on packing up her room, all of it being carefully wrapped and tucked into boxes that were destined for Steve's old apartment.

Bucky decided that Mrs. Johnson deserved to hear the news directly from him and Steve, in person, so it made no sense to ship Winnie's stuff there. Steve figured they could sort that all out at a later date. He felt like he was thinking that way about a lot of things. He wanted to grieve – fall apart and tear open at the seams, screaming and crying in anguish at the loss of a friend – someone he was so close to that the idea of her dying had seemed impossible before it actually happened.

Talking to Peggy at night, sitting in her room, her arm wrapped tentatively around his wide shoulders in comfort, he knew that she was also missing her new friend. He had the notion that life at the SSR was a lonely one for Peggy – she didn't get close to any of the other women, the ones who were so very different from everything that Peggy was. And she couldn't get close to most of the men, because they all just wanted to see her as one of those other women and didn't like it when she didn't fit that mould immediately.

Things had been different with Winnie. He knew that, he'd been friends with Winnie for a very long time, he knew the draw she had, how easy it was to like her, if you were someone who valued the things she was: smart, realistic, sweet, pleasant, and scrappy.

"I keep thinking that she'll just come swinging through that door, telling me to come eat dinner with her and Buck," Steve told Peggy in a low voice, the night before they were all due to fly back to New York, "I keep hoping I'll wake up and find her brewing coffee in the kitchen again, or arguing with Stark over something in the offices." Peggy laughed the slightest bit.

"I never should have told her to run," Peggy finally replied. Steve turned to her and grasped both of her shoulders, making her meet his eyes. "You had no other choice, she had no training Peggy, she wasn't an agent, she wasn't military; Hydra wanted to take her, and they would have done that whether you ran with her or not," his voice was even and reasonable, and Peggy nodded, but her eyes still grew misty.

Abruptly she climbed to her feet and started to pace. "We mustn't say anything to Bucky, but there is still a chance that one day, when this is all over, when Hydra is defeated and the war has been won, that we will discover what happened to her," Peggy told him, her brow furrowed in concentration as she thought about all the work that would have to lead to such a moment. Steve took a deep breath and nodded.

"Knowing would be good," he said slowly, "But for now, she deserves her final goodbye, she deserves our last respects."

So they did just that.

The Howling Commandos, Captain America, Howard Stark, Agent Carter and a huge group of press arrived in New York State. The Colonel had decided that they would allow some of the press to film this, despite everyone's arguments that it was tasteless and disgusting to do so. He'd argued that they needed the archival footage, and that the country deserved to know what had happened, to know how real and present the dangers and evil of Hydra were. He wanted people afraid, terrified even. If even a newsreel sweetheart could be captured and killed by Hydra, then anyone could be, and people needed to be afraid and wary.

Steve secretly thought that the Colonel was being directed by higher-ups, that he was following orders, because the man looked disgusted with himself the entire time that he was explaining it them. He wondered if this was a ploy by the government, or the SSR, to make the public hyper aware of their vulnerability, so they'd be more watchful for spies, more likely to report suspicious activity, thereby assisting the SSR and the military with exposing secret assassins, spies, and moles amongst them.

Despite all of this, they'd still tried to prevent it, with Bucky nearly getting into a fistfight with a cameraman. Steve had whispered urgently in his ear that anything like that in front of Mrs. Johnson was unfair and unwise, he needed to be calm and think only of the mother whose heart they had to break.

So, the nation was able to watch, through later promos, newsreels, and pictures, as Mrs. Johnson was told her daughter died in service to her country; they watched "the adorable Winnie Johnson" get her send off.

They buried her "body", an empty casket they led everyone to believe was actually Winnie, in the cemetery where her father was interred. Bucky remained stoic, his face frozen into a stone mask of pain as he stayed at Mrs. Johnson's side, supporting the poor woman as she buried her only child.

Steve wondered if Bucky would ask for an exit, ask to stay in the US now. He wondered if his friend's heart could possibly still be in it after all of this. He decided that if Bucky asked to stay behind and mourn and grieve alone, then Steve would do anything in his power to make sure that happened.

Bucky never asked though. Once their ghastly task in New York was completed, his friend seemed eager to get back to the fighting in Europe – clearly driven by single-minded revenge.

On their flight back to Europe, back to their fight with Hydra, Steve felt like he'd single-handedly destroyed his friends all because he wanted to contribute, wanted to be a hero. He knew that theory wouldn't hold water, but enjoyed the pain of blaming himself for a while; it was a nice change from the crushing grief. He ran through all the things that never would have happened if he hadn't become Captain America. Unfortunately, down that path lay Bucky's tortured death at the hands of Hydra, and Hydra's dark plots spreading across the world.

_You had to do what you did – you had to fight to stop Hydra, no matter the cost._ He hated thinking that Winnie was the cost, that her life was the price for taking down Hydra, the price for freedom. He couldn't wrap his mind around the unfairness of it all. She wasn't supposed to be pulled into this. She should have been at home in New York, married to Bucky and having little Barnes babies, not wrapped up in the middle of a secret government group, working with the likes of Howard Stark and Captain America.

Disturbingly, over the next few weeks, Bucky withdrew from them, fighting hard, still a Commando, but it was like he was an automaton, like he had no heart.

Watching his friend stare blankly at things more and more frequently, Steve supposed that was exactly what had happened. Bucky's heart had been ripped out and buried in an empty casket in Brooklyn.

He was willing to do dangerous things, taking stupid risks, not thinking things through, and it wasn't missed by any of them. Steve understood revenge, he really did, but he couldn't stand the thought of losing Bucky too, and tried many times to rein his friend in, to force him to see what he was doing.

"Are you trying to die? Is that it? Are we helping you commit suicide by letting you come with us?" Steve had finally exploded one day. Bucky had turned his increasingly flat gaze to Steve and a small flicker of something had burned in his blue eyes for a moment before disappearing.

"No, but it doesn't matter anymore does it?" Bucky responded dully. Steve stared at him, not certain what he meant. Bucky swallowed and looked away before he continued, "I'm going to help you guys, we're going to take them down, no matter what it takes – and since I don't care about death anymore, may as well be me jumping in there. You all deserve to live, I don't – so you will, I'll make sure of it Steve." Steve had glared at his friend and tried to argue, but Bucky could not be budged.

He had finally climbed to his feet, intent on getting away from Steve's pleas and logic. "Steve, when this is all over, I have nothing," Bucky said softly, "Right now, I can kill them, watch Hydra burn, and it lets me feel something. But when we're done, when we go home… there is nothing for me anymore."

"You have me Bucky," Steve said carefully, "You have your family that loves you." Bucky had glared at him and walked to the door, intent on leaving the room. He paused at the doorway, his head hanging, his dark hair swooping over his forehead to partially obscure his eyes as he replied, "I have nothing."

Afterwards, to Steve, it felt like a twisted waiting game. He was waiting for the moment when Bucky did something stupid and didn't survive it through blind luck, where he did something and Steve wasn't able to help him, to save him.

When that moment came, the fateful moment that would strike sadness in the heart of every grade-schooler in history class from then on, Steve was not surprised when Bucky did something stupid.

To be certain, throwing himself in front of the Hydra weapon blast, the vibranium shield gripped in his hands - that _was_ incredibly stupid. There was no way Bucky could have handled the blast, Steve wasn't certain that even _he_ could have.

The image of Bucky falling from the blasted open train, into the frozen river below, his screams floating back up to torment Steve, was something that he would have playing on repeat in some corner of his mind for the rest of his life. The grief he felt at Bucky's loss was only rivalled by the anger he felt towards Bucky for leaving, and his personal rage at himself for not being able to save his friend.

And now, Steve was truly alone. He had no family left in the world and had to mourn the deaths of his two best friends, standing with their families, watching them cry. Mrs. Johnson wasn't even able to stand up at Bucky's funeral – to lose Winnie, followed shortly after with Bucky's death was too much for the woman.

He had the Commandos. He had Howard Stark, surprisingly, a man he would never have thought would stick around when the going got tough. He supposed he had his memories as well, though remembering the way Winnie used to smile, or the sound of Bucky laughing was nothing compared to experiencing it, and he was frequently left unsatisfied with his memories.

He also had Peggy, and he felt certain that if anyone, anywhere, could lift him out of this mess, to breathe life into him again, it would be her.

But first he needed to bring Hydra to its knees. No matter the cost. He'd do it for the two of them.


	6. Chapter 6 - Briefly, Agent Carter

_**Chapter 6 – Briefly, Agent Carter**_

_**1945 – Austria**_

It hadn't taken long, once the war was over and they had taken down and dismantled nearly all of the Hydra facilities still left, for Peggy and the remaining Howling Commandos, to lose a lot of their steam. She felt the crushing weight that victory brought. The reminders that all this happiness and success around her had come at such a high cost.

A little section of a Brooklyn neighborhood had paid the price, by losing three pieces of their future to Hydra. Peggy watched the men bringing out box after box from the very cold, very well hidden Hydra facility that had taken them weeks to locate. It was one of the last as far as they knew. She hoped the loss of that future turned out to be worth it in the end.

They had captured Reinhardt, which was a massive victory on its own, considering the horrific things he'd done – all of the SSR wanted to see him pay for his crimes. She was very tired of hearing members of Hydra extol the virtues of their vile group and had wasted little time in having Reinhardt bundled off.

She pulled her jacket collar a little closer around her neck and realized that they were very near the one year anniversaries of Winnie and Bucky's deaths. She stared off into the mountains around her, listening idly to the chatter and murmurs as her SSR agents catalogued and packing everything up. _I will need to go to Brooklyn_, she realized. She had met Mrs. Johnson and the Barnes family a couple time before they passed, and then of course at the funerals, all three of them.

She had heard the stories from the little trio of friends she had been lucky enough to know. How Steve had visited Bucky's family when he was away, and then how Winnie had stepped in when Steve was away. She wondered now if they would want to see her, a member of the organization that had led all three of those families' young people to their early deaths.

"'Wait!" She heard someone yelling behind her and turned, to see Dum Dum and Morita pushing people off a large metal tube that had the distinct blue-Tesseract glow to it.

"Leave it!" Dum Dum was growling at the SSR agents who were trying to wheel it away. She leapt forward when she saw Morita pull his gun and aim it at the agents there.

She trotted across the courtyard they were gathered in as they packed up and shut down the Hydra base, calling out "Stand down! Now! Stand down!"

The SSR agents finally did, seeming relieved to do so; no one wanted to pull their weapons on a Howling Commando, even if they _were_ retired. "What is the meaning of this?" She demanded, pushing through the wall of agents that surrounded Morita and Dum Dum as they stood guard over the tube.

Dum Dum's eyes were wide, shocked, and very disturbed. She felt her mouth go dry and heartbeat pick up at the sight of his fear alone. "Send them away," Morita said in a low, urgent voice, his dark eyes latching on to hers. She studied him briefly, before turning to the agents behind her.

"Carry on, over there," she instructed them in a no-nonsense voice, gesturing to the other side of the courtyard, "Now." The agents seemed happy to move away quickly, to get away from the upset heroes before them. Peggy cast another glance at Dum Dum and realized that she wasn't entirely certain she wanted to see what may have upset a man like him. Morita stepped towards her and lightly took her arm.

"I don't know what to say, how to tell you what this is," he told her, his voice shaking a little. Peggy blinked at him several times before nodding briskly and pushing past him, and moving past Dum Dum, to get a good look at the capsule. It was dark green, made of some kind of rock hard, thick metal. It was icy cold to the touch, and hauntingly lit up at the seams by the blue glow. That alone was enough to give her terrified pause. She walked slowly in a circle around it, noting the small placard screwed to it that said, "#67546 Laborversuch: 34Z - Telekinetische."

Peggy paused to stare at those words, uncertain of their meaning, but feeling a tightening in her stomach nonetheless. As she finally reached the other side of the metal tube, she paused, feeling like a giant hand had suddenly torn all the breath from her body.

The container was cold because it was being used to freeze its insides. She assumed the blue light was what kept the device powered and the person inside frozen in suspended animation.

Neither the blue light nor the exact type of technology being used here interested her, though. Only the frozen, blue face faintly visible through the small viewing window on the front of the pod interested her. The face, eyes closed, mouth pressed together in a hard line, features tightened in what looked like pain, greeted her with an image that would give her nightmares for the rest of her life.

Her eyes roamed up from the still face to the shorn head. Peggy remembered thick brown hair on that head, now it was short, close to the skull, shorter than a man's would be. Her stomach curdled as she thought about why Hydra would have needed such clear access to the skull.

"What in the hell is Winnie doing in that thing? And how do we get her out?" Dum Dum finally spoke from behind her, his voice disbelieving, horrified, and angry. Peggy turned her widened eyes to him and took several quick, deep breaths.

She had no idea.

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_**London – Two Weeks Later**_

"We don't get her out," Howard Stark finally delivered the news to them. Peggy sat bolt upright in her seat, shocked that Stark, of all people, thought that way. "Excuse me?" She asked him, in utter shock. She looked across the table to the unhappy Colonel and then over to the Commandos, all of whom looked stoic and solemn.

"Howard, how can you say that?" She asked him, almost unable to form the question. Stark's face was heavy with grief and he had dark circles under his eyes. She restructured her thoughts about him; it was obvious he had spent many, _many_, sleepless nights trying to figure out how to get Winnie out.

Cryogenically freezing people wasn't necessarily unheard of, especially not at the SSR, but it was never successful, always killing the individual either during the process of freezing them or thawing them. The SSR had given up on it as a useful method of healing or helping people. The more Peggy had thought about it since they'd found the pod with Winnie in it, she realized that it was coming back to hurt them now; perhaps if they'd studied it more they could save her now?

"All I've been able to determine is that she's not dead, she wasn't dead when they froze her – as long as she's frozen, she's alive. Besides, they've used Tesseract technology to seal and power the damn thing, and we just don't know enough about it to undo the work they've done," Stark spoke in a flat mournful voice and Peggy heard Dum Dum sigh heavily. "Let's blast the damn thing open then," Morita insisted, pounding a fist on the table. Stark shook his head.

"If that didn't kill her, it might end up killing all of us – we just don't know enough about what we're dealing with," Stark shot back, his frustration evident when he ran his hands through his hair, making it stand up wildly. The Colonel spoke next, his gravelly tone making every head in the room whip in his direction.

"Beyond that, even if you knew how to open it, we don't know what the girl is anymore, what they turned her into," he delivered this in a nearly clinical voice and Morita jumped to this feet, leaning over the table to glare at the man.

"'_The girl_'? She has a name! It's Winnie! We all knew her; _you_ knew her," he exclaimed angrily. The Colonel's brow drew down in a harsh glare.

"Get your head on straight young man, that isn't the same girl you knew. Hydra had her for a year, doing god knows what to her – there is not a chance in hell that's the same kid in there," the Colonel snapped back, his tone ringing with authority. Peggy leaned back quickly in her chair, his words hitting home sharply.

She thought about the translation they'd gotten for the placard: "#67546 Laboratory Trial: 34Z - Telekinetic." That seemed impossible and upon receiving the translation she hadn't known what to do with the information. It was too fanciful, too outrageous to be believed. Telekinesis was nothing beyond a science fiction fairy tale and had no real place in this world.

She thought of Steve, what he'd become, and even Schmidt, or "Red Skull". _That was because of science, their changes were both backed by tests, numbers, theories, equations – facts._ She thought about the Tesseract, what it was supposed to be, if you believed Norse legend. _Is it such a stretch?_

"So, we simply leave her frozen until the end of time?" Peggy spoke, breaking the tension. The Colonel cleared his throat and looked around, even his gruff demeanor unable to hide his discomfort with what he said next.

"The orders have come down to destroy the pod," he told them. Peggy stiffened and she could feel the collective intake of breath around her. The Commandos all began yelling, and the Colonel hollered right back, but Peggy's eyes darted up to Howard's and she watched as he pressed a small button on the side of his wrist watch.

When the meeting unhappily broke up after that, the Commandos all declaring the SSR could go to hell if they ever needed help with anything again, Peggy had avoided the Colonel and jogged after Stark, following him at a distance from the facility. Through the maze of hallways and secret doorways, out onto the streets of London, she followed him, staying behind him, not close enough for him to see her.

Nearly an hour into their walk, he entered a theatre, where she could hear the strains of lovely orchestral music playing. She slunk through the door and followed the sound of his footsteps until they stopped. He turned to face her, and she moved directly to him, standing inches from his face. The loud sounds of the orchestra practicing through the open door to their left drowned out their words.

"She's gone," he murmured, his snapping black eyes locked on Peggy's. She licked her lips and nodded. "I'm not going to ask where, its better I never know," she replied. He watched her face, his gaze moving back and forth between her eyes.

"I'll never stop trying," he told her, "For Cap, but mostly for herself. She was a good kid, and I failed her; I'll never stop trying to figure it out, to bring her back."

Peggy nodded and closed her eyes tightly against the onslaught of memories from the past few years, all the good, all the bad, and she felt her chest constrict with a wave of sorrow for Steve, a man she certainly ended up loving in the end, and also the girl, who for a few brief months had been her friend.

She looked up at Stark and nodded, gripping his arm tightly in her hand. "Good," she told him.

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_**Brooklyn – One Week Later**_

She knocked on the door, and double checked the scrap of paper in her hand with the address on it – the apartment number written there matched the one on the door. There was a faint shuffling on the other side of the door before it was finally opened. Peggy smiled softly at the older woman standing there, dressed in drab clothes, her face and shoulders weighed down with the heavy burden of grief, loss, and solitude.

"Mrs. Johnson? I don't know if you remember me, I was friends with…" Peggy paused and swallowed hard, having difficulty saying the names to the poor woman in front of her, "I was friends with them, all three of them." The woman eyed her and nodded, her features softening the slightest bit.

"I remember you," she responded carefully, her grip on the door tightening. Peggy looked around for a moment, feeling awkward and rude for intruding on this woman, on today of all days. "I came to…" Peggy paused and took a deep breath, "I came to visit you, for a friend."

Mrs. Johnson finally smiled a little wider, her eyes looking shinier than they had a moment ago. She took a step back and pushed the door open all the way.

"Come in dear, I think that I would like that very much."


	7. Chapter 7 - Out of Time

_**Chapter 7 – Out of Time**_

_**New York City – 2011**_

The expo had been completely wrong all those years ago. Nothing could have prepared him for all of this. Nothing. Steve was sitting on the sofa in what he was told was now going to be his "apartment". He knew the place was under surveillance, and that the agent stationed in the hallway was likely to be listening. He couldn't imagine how much more, how much else, this "SHIELD" could possibly need to know about him. As he'd heard it told, his whole life was quite literally available in an open book.

He scrubbed his hands over his face as he peered around the room again, the whole tangled series of events over the last week avalanching through his mind and crashing down in front of him. After what he'd seen of the rest of the world outside his doors, he knew someone at SHIELD had gone to great lengths to make sure he was comfortable, that his entire apartment, almost every facet of it, was 1940s authentic.

He didn't know how he could possibly benefit anyone now. He was big, he was strong, but he was out of his element. He was more ignorant than a child in this new millennium. He didn't know how or why anything in this world existed or functioned. He barely understood half the things people said to him, unless they made a marked effort to leave out their slang, any slang from the past 70 years, really.

The world looked different, harder, and brighter; buildings and cars seemed to be taking over the landscape, almost as if they had a mind of their own and were intent on overshadowing and obscuring the humans who designed them. Director Fury, the man with the eye patch, Steve's current anchor to this new world, told him the whole world was not like Manhattan, there were still suburbs and farms and stretches of untouched wilderness.

Everything smelled different too, heavier, richer, both more fragrant and more pungent than anything he could imagine. He'd always though the future would be sterile, but the heady aromas of perfume, pollution, and the expansion of the human population had charged the very air around him– he never though that time travel would affect his sense of smell.

_But then, you didn't exactly time travel, did you?_ He thought to himself, pulling himself off of the couch and moving across the living room to the kitchen. His small refrigerator contained a lot of food. It was food that Fury had assured him was the same as it was in the 40s, just packaged differently. Steve grabbed a Coke and worked at the strange tab on the can it was in. He sniffed it and took a tentative sip, smacking his lips at the strangeness of it.

It _was _the same, the essential flavor was there, but it was _more _somehow. Fizzier, sweeter, thicker, darker – he couldn't put his fingers on it exactly, but the drink was definitely not one he would say made him nostalgic. Striding across the living room he paused in front of some shelves set up neatly on the wall. The framed pictures all along them made him terribly sad.

It had turned out that someone like Captain America didn't simply have his things packed up and given to the Salvation Army when he passed away. A lot of it was stored carefully at SHIELD, he discovered, and at half a dozen museums. _Museums_, he thought incredulously, running his hand over the picture of Winnie and Bucky that he knew she'd loved so much, the one from Coney Island. With the care put into making his apartment time-appropriate for him, someone had also managed to get their hands on any of his old belongings not locked away in display cases.

These small touches, like the pictures, his mother's rocking chair, the mirror that Mrs. Barnes had given him for his front hall oh so long ago - all these things were here. So were a lot of Winnie's things. He remembered how they'd stored her things in his apartment when she first joined the Captain America crew, and then again, the remainder of her things after she'd died. It was a shock to find something of hers nestled up next to something of his own. A couple of her small dresses and pretty jackets were hung in a closet in one of the bedrooms, startling him almost into tears when he'd found them.

In the bathroom he'd come across a small perfume bottle, and he'd known it was hers, even if it was empty. He had torn the top of it off and stuck his nose into the bottle, breathing deeply of the scent that remained, 70 years after the bottle's last use. He had cried and thrust the bottle into the medicine cabinet, leaving the bathroom as fast as he could then.

He missed his old life in an unimaginably wrenching way.

And he wished it would stop haunting him.

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Nick Fury had more phones than anyone he'd ever known. They each signified a different point of access that different groups had to him. When the red cell phone rang, the one designated with a phone number only the President of the United States had access to, for use in a national emergency, the immovable Nick Fury felt his stomach twist uneasily. SHIELD had seen nothing on the radar to indicate any kind of emergency on the horizon.

_What have we missed?_ He thought in intense concern as he snatched the phone up, flipping it open swiftly.

"Sir, where are you, I'll send –", Fury stopped talking, listening to what he was pretty sure was someone chewing on the other end of the phone. "Mr. President?" He asked in slow surprise, wondering why on the earth the leader of the free world would call this phone just to eat something crunchy in Nick Fury's ear.

"That's a new one," a cocky voice said on the other side, "But I could get used to it if you really want." Fury snapped his jaw shut with a furious clack, feeling his heart rate cool.

"Stark? How the hell did you get this number?"

"Pretty cool right? You have about ten, but this one seemed more intimate, somehow," Tony said casually on the other end of the line. Fury pulled the phone away from his ear and glared at it, wishing briefly (and not for the first time) he had just had Tony Stark locked up after the whole Iron Man debacle a few years back.

"You have five seconds to explain to me why you've called this number, before I hang up," Fury told him gravely. Tony crunched loudly into whatever he was eating and made an mmm-hmmm noise.

"And would you _please_ stop eating in my ear," Fury added, his voice growing angry again. There was a slight clatter and the wet sound of swallowing, which made Fury grimace, and then Tony smacked his lips.

"There, that's better, right? Always think better on a full stomach anyways," Stark told him, before sighing heavily into the phone.

"I used to like to think you and I were friends, Nick," Tony said pleasantly. Fury took a breath in, prepared to snap again, but Tony continued on before he could. "No, no, don't deny it," Stark urged him, "And friend's share things, don't they?" Fury said nothing and Stark let the pause hang for a long moment.

"Alright, going to play coy, that's fine, I enjoy the chase, so try and follow me here," Tony told him, his voice dropping lower at the end, "I know what you found, or better yet, who." Stark let that sit for a moment. Fury's mind was reeling, wondering where the breach was, how Stark had found this out, who had told him.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," Fury replied calmly, his tone even. Tony sighed like he was amusedly exasperated with Fury.

"Did I ever tell you about the other guy who rivaled me in my father's affections my entire life? He was some impossible to beat competition, I didn't stand a chance in winning against him, because really, who can win against a dead guy?" Tony said, and Fury's heart sank. SSR files from the 1940s made little secret of Howard Stark's involvement in everything that went on back in the day, and there were certainly rumors that Howard Stark spent years and years, on and off, over the course of his life, searching the bottom of the Atlantic for his fallen friend.

"So even though Dad's dead, I've kept my finger on the other guy's pulse, so to speak," Tony said, his voice laughing like it was an embarrassing revelation, "It's a compulsion at this point – so sue me!"

"Get to the point, Stark," Fury managed to bite out between clenched teeth. He was beyond irritated that Stark knew about the Captain, that he knew about anything that Fury meant to keep secret.

"I want to meet him," Stark said simply. Fury was shaking his head before he could even answer. "No, I can't allow that, not now, not yet," Fury replied firmly. Stark cleared his throat loudly and obnoxiously on the other end of the phone before Fury burst out, impatiently, "Is that it Mr. Stark?"

Tony chuckled. "Well now that you mention it, no, it isn't," Stark's voice was amused, but Fury sensed the level of seriousness beneath it, which ran a chill down his spine. "How well do you know your history, Nick?" Stark asked him, "Have you watched the old newsreel footage of the old Star Spangled Man with a Plan? His buddies? His bosses?" There was a long pause and Fury heard Stark swallowing some kind of liquid.

"I'll take your silence as a no," Stark added, "I want you to pick up your… hmm… let's see, let's have some fun: pick up your green phone please and watch the video I just sent you." Fury opened his mouth to protest, irritation settling heavily on him now; he was tired of this phone call and hated Stark's games for the most part on a good day, and this was not looking like a good day.

He heard the distinct pinging of the green phone in question and rolled his eye as he reached for it. He swiped his thumb across the pad and tried to repress the swelling of anger he felt knowing that Stark had accessed a phone that only Romanov had the number to; Fury himself didn't even know it.

There was a message waiting when he opened the phone, and he hesitantly tapped on it. The entire phone screen filled with an old black and white newsreel promo from WW II. He watched as Captain America and his two closest friends "since childhood", the video told him, took a sightseeing tour of what was obviously a soundstage version of New York City.

The video he watched zoomed in on the face of the girl, pretty and smiling in that nostalgia-inducing way that all vintage ads have, and when the words "the adorable Winnie Johnson" flashed across the screen and the video paused there, Fury felt something rumble unpleasantly in his stomach.

"So, what did you think? I put that little bit together just for you," Stark told him, his tone playful. "So, any questions? I'm like a whiz with that time period." Fury put his hand to his forehead and massaged his temples, knowing now that Stark had a point to make, probably a very important point to make, and he was going to have to let the man lead them there on his own.

"Enlighten me," Fury said wryly. Stark chuckled. "Winnie Johnson, aka Winifred Leigh Johnson, born 1917 in Brooklyn to a fairly well-to-do family, grew up alongside one Steve Rogers and his pal Bucky Barnes – god, I just love that name, don't you? Still holds up after 70 years – this trio, the three musketeers, whatever, were super tight. Winnie was engaged to the guy with the best name ever, Bucky, and they, along with Captain America, and the Howling Commandos worked with the SSR, and the greatest man alive at the time, my father."

Fury sat up straight, history class, and old SSR files suddenly brightening in his mind. "I sense movement on your end there Nicky, tell me, is any of this ringing a bell?" Stark asked him lightly.

Fury sighed and replied, "Yes, as far as I recall Hydra captured and killed the girl, before the others died, in 1944, correct?" There was a sharp smacking noise from Tony's end of the line and it took Fury a moment to realize that Stark had likely just clapped his hands together in excitement.

"Yes, gold star Nick, gold star," Stark told him, "But there's more, 'cause isn't there always?"

"What more?" Fury interjected, "If you know what you think you know, then you know that the biggest mystery about that whole period in time is currently reading history books covering the past 70 years, in his new apartment."

Stark laughed, obviously enjoying the back and forth, and then lowered his voice, speaking a little more intensely, "I'm sure what you didn't learn, what nobody learned, was that Hydra didn't kill her."

There was a pause, again for dramatic effect, Fury was certain, before Stark continued. "They had her for a year, experimenting and such, you know, all the classy things the bad guys did to the good guys back then. And then good ole Cap took down Hydra." Fury sat up straighter, the point was close and suddenly he was feeling decidedly strange about where this might be leading.

"So what happened to Hydra's guinea pigs?" Stark asked him, before immediately answering himself, "Well, obviously they killed them off, you know, wastes of space and failed experiments that they all were." Fury said nothing.

"Except for one," Stark delivered quietly, "One of them _must _have been a success, because they didn't kill her, they _froze her_ and they tried to ship her away, to study her for later. Except the SSR caught up to them." Stark cleared his throat.

"Tesseract technology was used to seal and power the tube that kid was frozen in, back then no one knew how to deal with it, or how to undo what Hydra had done to seal it, not even my father. And you can only guess what the Government's response was to that, right? Come on, take a guess," Tony pleaded teasingly. Fury said nothing, still, and Tony sighed like he was being endlessly badgered to respond.

"Fine, _fine_, I'll tell you, calm down, Nicky," Stark told him, "The SSR wanted to just blow the whole thing up, didn't want to deal with technology they didn't control, and most importantly, _they didn't want to deal with a monster they hadn't created themselves."_

"Excuse me?" Fury said, "Are you telling me that this girl was what? Like another Steve Rogers?" Stark made a tsking noise.

"Nick, do you _ever _listen to me?" Stark admonished, "I just told you they couldn't open it, so they never _really_ knew what Hydra did to her, since they never unfroze her. So my dad, the hero, stole her, and the SSR never knew it was him. They searched a little, but decided it was likely for the better that she and her tube were lost in the shuffle of time."

"Are you saying you have the tube, Stark?" Fury asked carefully, arriving at the crux of the matter. Tony laughed, "Well, it _took_ you long enough to figure that out!"

Fury was careful with his next question, worried about how quickly this might unravel, "Have you unfrozen her, Tony?" Stark was silent for over a minute while Fury gripped the phone.

"No, I haven't been able to figure it out until very recently, and I think I know how to now," Tony replied, his voice as serious as Fury had ever heard it.

"Are you calling to ask for help? Or permission?" Fury questioned, growing anxious; unfreezing Captain America was one thing, but unfreezing a potentially hazardous 70 year old Hydra science experiment seemed infinitely more dangerous.

"Neither," Stark replied immediately, "I'm going to do this either way, I just wondered if you wanted in on it."

"_In _on it?" Fury shot back. "Yes," Stark told him, "Because if this works, if I bring her back to life and she doesn't _immediately_ try to kill me and every other person on the planet, then I'm bringing her home to her 94 year old best bud."

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Fury found himself, two weeks later, in a secret location that Stark had insisted he clean off and debug three different times before arriving at – blindfolded, driven by someone on Stark's team – staring through a glass window into a sealed room. He couldn't pull his eye from the eerie image of the girl's frozen face in the tube. After all this time, the tube still shone with the distinct glow of the Tesseract all around the seams.

"Are we ready?" Stark spoke aloud, and his AI system replied, "Yes sir, shall I count it down or simply begin on your mark?" Stark hummed for a moment before turning to Nick and asking, "What do you think, good buddy?"

Nick turned his glare on Stark and felt that was answer enough. "Jarvis, Nicky says he thinks we should just start now."

"As you wish, sir."

Nick watched in awe, as several beams of light, from lasers and other sources, latched on to various portions of the tube. Metallic walls and covers began to move around the tube which was slowly tipping on to its back. After several moments, pieces of the pod began to come off: first the bottom, then the sides, then the back, and then finally the top portion with the viewing window was pulled off by a mechanical arm.

An unreal amount of smoke and blue fog filled the room the procedure was occurring in, and Nick put a hand to the glass when he could no longer see anything besides the lights filling the room and glowing through the clouds. There was a loud hissing noise and the fog began to clear. What was left was the blue and frozen-solid body of the girl, her skin, her clothes, her hair, all of it frozen and tinged various shades of blue.

The metal plates that had swirled around the pod earlier, had now formed a surface beneath her body, like an operating table. The lasers and lights that had focused on the tube suddenly shifted as well, creating something like a bubble of warm, bright light that settled on top of her. Stark pressed another button and thin metal arms rose up from the sides of the table, moving over her and forming arches across various points of her body. The arches connected with intense golden beams of light and soon she was bathed head to foot in the light.

"That'll heat her up at the correct rate," Stark murmured to him, "Once she's warm enough, the biological protocols come into effect and they will make sure her heart starts beating, that her brain gets working, that she can breathe again… you know, all the good stuff." Fury could hardly answer, he was only capable of nodding.

"So she_ is_ alive? Right?" Fury clarified and Tony nodded, then grimaced and shrugged. "She's like Schrodinger's frozen chick right now," Tony replied and Fury stared blankly back at him. Tony sighed.

"She is both alive and not alive, it is impossible to tell which, we need to wait and find out," Stark explained with exaggerated patience.

"How long?" Fury asked in irritation. Tony glanced down at the screen he was using, one that was part of the window in front of them. "Hmmm, ahh, maybe 5 minutes?" He responded. Fury was astounded and looked back at the girl again, startled to see that she had already lost most of the blue tinge.

"I know what you're thinking: But Tony, it took _days_ for us to unthaw our Capsicle!" Stark said in his dry way, "The mistake there was not asking for my help, I'm a lot smarter than you guys, Nick, I wish you'd just accept that." Fury rolled his eyes and made his way over to a high-legged stool across the room, perching on the edge of it.

"Sir, we are ready to initiate biological protocol," the AI spoke shortly thereafter. "Awesome Jarv, do it," Tony responded, his eyes locked on the other room.

"That was fast," Fury said, moving like a dark shadow across the room, back to Tony's side. Stark glanced up at him and shrugged. "I'm smarter than myself sometimes too, I guess," he said easily in answer. Fury made a face and watched the room again, astounded to see the metal table rise into the air, at the same time as a hospital bed rose up from a door in the floor. Parting carefully down the middle, like cracking a large, fragile egg, the metal table split in two and the girl was gently deposited on the bright and comforting bed.

A flurry of lithe robotic arms later, and the girl was hooked up to a heart monitor, oxygen, fluids, and multiple computer monitors sprang up around her, clearly there for tracking everything from brain activity to organ viability.

Nothing was recording anything yet, though, and Fury turned to Stark, his face concerned. Stark patted his arm.

"It's alright, she's just not there yet, give it a minute," Stark said, with nearly overdone surety. Fury realized that not even Stark was fully confident that the girl would wake up, and felt bad for the man. Stark had explained a little bit about the nature of his father's work with this frozen pod. To Fury, it sounded like waking her up became as much of an obsession as finding Captain America had. And the pod-obsession had definitely passed from father to son.

When slight beeping sounded from the other room, both men stepped involuntarily closer to the glass. Her monitors were slowly coming to life. First her heart, then ticks of brain activity, then, miraculously, her chest rose and fell gently as she took her first breaths of air in 70 years.

"Is she sedated?" Fury asked quietly. Stark nodded and then asked, "Jarvis, how's it looking?"

"Everything is looking fine sir, in fact, other than the fact that Ms. Johnson has significant scarring on her body, she is in perfect health," Jarvis replied. Fury rubbed at his temples, unaware of just how much tension he'd been carrying around all day, until that moment.

He was watching another miracle, he knew that. He thought watching Steve Rogers unthaw was the most remarkable thing he'd ever witness, but this was something else. It was all so… accelerated. Tony punched a few more buttons and the walls of the room shimmered into holographs that made it look like she was lying in a bright, clean, and cheery hospital from her own era.

Tony looked over at Fury and smirked. "The secret to having your new time travelling pal not wake up and freak out, is to keep the details simple," Stark told him in a mocking tone, "The baseball game was overkill, Nick, just saying." Fury waved a hand at him and they headed for the door to the other room. At the doorway, Stark put a hand up and halted Fury.

"Look, I don't want to sound insulting, but you're mildly terrifying to look at, so I'm thinking it's best if the first thing she sees when she wakes up isn't your face? Right?" Stark told him, only half-kidding, "Besides, everyone says I look a lot like dear old dad and she was his friend presumably."

Fury paused and eyed Stark critically. Stark's face a mixture of excitement, intense worry, and his ever-present smirk of playfulness. He realized how important this moment was to Tony, to finally realize one of his father's dearest wishes. Fury nodded after a moment, reluctantly.

Tony entered the room and the door whooshed shut after him. He waved a hand and a stool came up from the ground next to the bed.

Fury saw Tony's mouth moving and realized he couldn't hear what was happening in here. He was reluctant to do it, but he addressed the AI for help, "Ah, Jarvis, can you open communication in here?" There was a quick pinging noise and Jarvis replied in a voice that Fury could have sworn was smug, "There you are Director Fury, please let me know if require anything else."

"Jarvis, please halt sedation," Stark spoke from the next room, his voice slightly echoing through the speakers in the observation control room that Fury sat in. There were several tense minutes, as Stark had the AI remove the breathing apparatus, and tilt the bed up so the girl was sitting up, and then Fury watched as her fingers started moving, her legs shifting slightly to get more comfortable, her shoulders squirming minutely.

Her face was moving, as if she was having a nightmare, and then her eyes fluttered open, blinking furiously at the light. Fury watched as her fists suddenly clenched at the bedding next to her, in white knuckled terror, her whole body stiffening as her head whipped back and forth.

"No! No! No!" She started shrieking, her voice high-pitched with terror, beginning to thrash as if being held down, as if desperate to escape. Tony cast one wide eyed looked over his shoulder in the direction of the room Fury was in and then immediately looked back down at the girl.

"Hey," he said softly, "It's alright, you're safe now." She whipped her head to the sound of his voice and blinked hard, repeatedly. Fury realized, with something like pity, that she had tears streaming down her face as she tried to focus on Tony.

"You're alright, you're safe, you're in New York, away from Hydra," he soothed her. She took in a shuddering breath and then narrowed her eyes at Tony.

"Howard?" She managed to ask, her voice rasping harshly. Tony smiled hugely, pleased, Fury could tell, that she thought he was his father.

"No, I'm his son," Stark replied gently. Before another breath was taken, Fury realized the answer was a huge mistake and began to rise to his feet. A heartbeat later and Stark seemed to realize it too, starting to open his mouth to explain. The girl's mental trauma was too much, and it was information she couldn't process. Fury could almost see her snapping. He watched as she raised her arm a foot off the bed and violently twisted her hand around in a squeezing motion.

Mouth hanging open in utter shock, Fury saw the back of Tony's shirt stretch out, yanking Tony away with a rushing speed, until he was thrown to the wall, smashing through the hologram display. The shirt, and his pants, flattened to the wall around his body and Fury realized Tony's own clothing was pinning him to the wall, and he lunged to his feet when two things happened at once.

The neck around Tony's shirt twisted viciously, as if it were trying to choke him, and the girl began to scream again, her raised hand shaking. The hologram was flickering chaotically around the room, due to Tony's impact, and Fury threw the door open, charging into the room.

"Jarvis!" Fury screamed, "Sedate her! Now!" He ran to Tony first and tore the man's shirt open at his neck, with difficulty – it felt like other hands were fighting him for the material.

Tony sagged in relief and gasped in a huge breath before he cried, "Look out!" There was a rushing noise to the air and Tony tried in vain to shove him to the side. Fury dropped to the floor, half a second before the metal stool slammed into the wall where his head had just been, with such force that it twisted into a useless chunk and thudded to the floor.

"Jarvis!" Tony yelled, "Sedate her goddammit!"

"I'm trying sir, she's burning through it too quickly!" Jarvis replied loudly.

"Then use enough to take out a whole goddamn army!" Tony yelled back, as the stool rose into the air between him and Fury and then slammed like a meteorite into the ground next to Fury, narrowly missing his head yet again. The stool didn't move again, and Tony's clothing finally slackened and he dropped to the floor.

They lay on the floor, panting, until Stark pulled himself to sit against the wall, Fury moving to do the same.

"I forgot something," Stark told him, shooting him a slightly apprehensive look. "What?" Fury asked, catching his breath. "Her little pod _may_ have had the German word for telekinetic on it," Tony told him. There was silence for a few moments.

"You're a damn idiot, Stark," Fury told him finally.

"We need to try that again, properly," Stark replied. Fury just looked at him and Tony picked at the remnants of the front of his shirt. "We need to get the Cap involved, I think he's the only one she'll respond to," Stark said simply.

Fury opened his mouth to respond in the negative and Tony spoke first, "I'm telling him one way or another, I have my ways. I just thought you'd prefer to deliver the news, since he's your new best pal."

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Steve was reading a magazine from 1968, when there was a knock at his apartment door. He tossed the relic to the table and moved to the door, the peephole showing him that his visitor was Nick Fury.

"Director Fury," Steve greeted, saluting, "Nice to see you sir."

"I told you that you don't need to do that, Rogers," Fury told him, a small smile on his face as he walked past Steve and took a seat in the living room. Steve moved and sat back down at the couch and nodded Fury.

"Yes you have sir," he replied. Fury shook his head, but Steve thought he was flattered by it and wouldn't put up much of a protest to any future displays of respect. The Director looked uncomfortable and for a moment Steve wondered what news this man could possibly be nervous to deliver to him. Steve felt certain that being frozen for 70 years took the cake in terms of unwelcome news.

Fury reached under his trench coat and removed a file folder. Placing it on the coffee table between them. He moved to slide it over to Steve but kept his fingers pressed down on it when Steve reached for it. "I need you to understand before you look in here that I only found about this a couple weeks ago" Fury told him. Steve blinked and nodded, then pulled the folder out from underneath the Director's restraining fingertips and froze when it was in his lap. The name on the folder screamed at him.

_Johnson, Winifred L._

His eyes darted up to Fury's and he couldn't fathom why this man felt it was necessary to torture him with details about Winnie's death and abuse at the hands of her Hydra captors, or whatever horrors this folder contained.

"Why?" Steve managed to ask, his voice almost pleading. Fury shook his head. "I wish I could say it's not what you think, but that doesn't even begin to describe it," he told Steve in an uneasy voice.

"Then make it quick, sir," Steve snapped, "Because I don't want to look at any of this." He waved a hand at the folder, which he tossed back down on the coffee table.

"Steve," Fury said, his voice firm, "She's alive." Steve froze, his scrambled mind completely unable to process the words that Fury had delivered for almost a full minute. "Steve? Captain Rogers?" Fury asked him, his tone worried.

"How is she alive? Where is she?" Steve asked faintly, blinking hard and trying to wrestle his mind into focusing, "She must be, what? 94?" Fury nodded at Steve's guess.

"Yeah, of course she is, just like you," Fury told him. There was silence and Steve felt a ripple of realization move through him.

"Wait, you said 'just like you'," Steve replied in confusion, "Do you mean… _just _like me? She's like I am? Not aged?" Fury nodded and Steve truly felt like he was losing his damn mind.

"Interested in reading the folder now?" Fury asked him. Steve nodded, wrenching it back towards himself, flipping it open. He was greeted with a picture of Winnie taken by the SSR when she first started to live at the facility underground, in London. It was an ID photo. He almost melted at the smile on her face. He turned to the next picture and saw an image of a strange green tube, with a blue glow about it. There was a face just visible in the little viewing window and it took him a moment to match the ghastly pale-blue statue frozen in the tube to the image of Winnie, his Winnie.

Breathing hard, he glanced up at Fury, his features twisting slowly in disbelief. The next item was a report, written by none other than Tony Stark.

"Tony?" Steve asked, curious about the man's tie to Howard. "His son," Fury told him and Steve shook his head in amazement. He turned to the folder and began to read.

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Fury had tried to warn him. The entire drive to the location they were to meet Stark, at each stop to debug and switch cars, when they were blindfolded for the last leg of the journey, Fury repeated to him that he had to be careful, he had to be calm, watch his words, his tone, his volume, and move carefully.

Steve still couldn't fully grasp what it was that Winnie could do now, what Hydra had turned her into. The file had been pretty clear about her injuries, the scars, and the tests that Tony was fairly certain had been performed on her. Steve had even watched the recording of her de-thawing and being woken up the first time, his eyes nearly bugging from his head when she started screaming and people and furniture flew across the room like they were on hidden wires.

But the voice, the small, scared voice that had said "Howard?" That was his Winnie; he heard her in that voice. The slightly blurred figure he saw on the screen that lay in the bed, in blue pants and a white sleeveless shirt didn't seem like it could be her, especially with her dark brown hair laying so flat and short around her head.

Now, as he stood at the glass viewing window to the room she was in, he felt stirrings of unease. He wanted to charge in there and scoop her up and have it be like old times again, but he was fairly certain that wasn't going to be the case.

"She's damaged goods, Cap," Tony had told him. He wanted to be irritated with the flippant and often rude man, but he owed the Starks both so much, for rescuing her, keeping her hidden and safe, and their continuous efforts to free her from her prison.

"Ready?" Stark asked him, hovering by a screen. Steve nodded and swallowed and entered the room. Unlike the video he had watched, this was a real room, with real soft yellow walls. The hospital bed and equipment was all there, and he noticed that Winnie was now wearing a polka-dotted hospital gown, with the blankets pulled up to her chest. He settled into the small chair next to the bed and leaned towards her, drinking in her face. It was Winnie, there was no doubt. She was thinner, her cheekbones more prominent, and her eyelids purple and fatigued, as was the delicate skin beneath her eyes. But it was her.

Steve reached for her hand and cupped it in his own. At the touch of her skin, he felt like crying. He couldn't believe she was here, not just 70 years later, but at all. He had crashed into the ice thinking she and Bucky were dead, that everyone who mattered to him was dead. If he'd only known. Steve shook his head and raised her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

"I'm so sorry, Win, I didn't know," he murmured to her. He reached his other hand up and brushed her hair off her forehead, pausing at the thin line of a scar that ran just above one of her eyebrows. "Oh god, I'm so sorry," he whispered again. She began to stir and he gently squeezed her hand.

"Winnie, it's Steve," he told her in a calm, soothing voice, even before her eyes opened. She was moving around, her eyes racing back and forth under her eyelids, her mouth pulling into a frown, the space between her eyebrows crinkling in upset.

"I'm here, Winnie, it's Steve. I'm right here. Steve is right here," he repeated to her. She began to pull on her hand and he gently guided it to the bed, pressing it down lightly. "Open your eyes, Win, come on, you'll see me, it's Steve."

Her eyes did flicker open then and he felt a clenching pain pass through his gut at seeing the familiar green there. "Winnie, it's me," he whispered. After darting in panic around the room, her chest rising and falling rapidly in terror, Winnie's gaze finally focused and landed on him.

Her eyes grew huge, round as saucers. Steve could almost feel the tension from the room where Stark and Fury waited and watched silently.

"Steve?" She whispered and he smiled and nodded. "Yeah, Win, it's me, I'm here," he told her happily. "Oh god, Steve, is it really you?" She asked him, her tone laced with terror. Steve nodded and she began to struggle, trying to sit up. He got to his feet and leaned over her, helping her sit up.

Taking a seat again, he leaned his elbows on the bed and took her hands in his, and pressed a kiss to her fingers. "How do you feel?" He asked her carefully. She looked around, blinking rapidly, "Where am I? Did you save me?" She asked him uneasily.

He shook his head and met her eyes. "The SSR saved you, and a member of the Stark family brought you back to health, and I'm here now, you're safe with me, I promise, you're completely safe now," he explained. She was nearly rocking back and forth as her face worked to hold back tears of relief. She shocked him when she suddenly crumpled forward into his arms and clung to him. Steve eased himself up to the bed and lay next to her, holding her tightly to his chest, his arms engulfing her.

She began to cry, her sobs loud and hoarse and he just let her, unwilling to stop it. After a while, she settled and pulled back. Steve was braced for it, the question he knew she was going to ask; he could see it in her eyes. He had discussed the inevitability of it with Fury, who had told him to lie, for now, to spare her too much shock at once.

As much as he hated it, he knew he had to lie to her now, she was too mentally unstable for the truth.

"Where is Bucky? Why isn't he here?" She asked him urgently. Steve bent his head and kissed her hands. "He's in Europe, you're in New York City, they haven't got the message to him yet, this was very sudden and I was the most near-by," he decided that while that wasn't fully the truth, it was pretty close – Bucky's body was never found, so it was likely naturally buried somewhere along a river in Europe.

Winnie accepted it for now, seemingly relieved enough that she was safe from the clutches of her tormentors, to think too hard about inconsistencies with his story.

"Everything is going to be fine now, you'll see," he promised her, hoping like hell he wasn't lying now.

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Winnie was still not 100% certain she wasn't dreaming. She had woken up in such a terrifying state of disorientation that she felt like her mind was literally falling to pieces. Steve was there though, he was solid, and he was real.

She couldn't count the days at first, so when she was finally able to keep track of them again, she knew it was at least a week that she had been in this small yellow room.

She couldn't quite understand why she was still there, she wasn't sick, or hurt. Steve told her it was just for observation. He never pressed her for information about what had happened, although she sensed that at some point in the future she would have to talk about it. Steve had also told her that she needed to not hurt anyone.

After he said that, she'd glanced at the cup on her dining tray, almost by reflex, and it had shot across the room and shattered against the wall. When she had felt the tears beginning to well up, Steve had held her and shushed her, saying it was all ok, that they would fix it eventually.

Winnie knew they couldn't. Even if she didn't speak about it, she thought about it, her time in that place with Reinhardt, as his lab rat. The repeated, mind numbing exercises and demonstrations he'd forced her through each and every day had inadvertently taught her some restraint, and some flexibility with it. She hated to do it, but now she tried to force herself to invoke that ability, to keep calm.

What she didn't know was that every single night, without fail, she had nightmares, and every single thing in the room would lift from the ground and shudder until Steve could hug her back to a calm state.

She never saw anyone but Steve, and that worried her. She desperately wanted to see Bucky, but Steve had told her he was having hard a time getting across the ocean right now.

She had tried be patient, as patient as she had to be, however when Steve brought her breakfast into the room, on what she thought was the 9th day since she'd begun trying to count, she decided it was time to talk to him.

"Here you go!" He said brightly, lowering the tray of food to the table he swung out over the bed for her. "Did you eat yet?" She asked him, her stomach growling as she stared at all the food in front of her. He nodded and gestured at her food. "I can hear your stomach, Win, eat now," he urged her. So she did; she wanted to talk but was just too hungry.

She was beginning to suspect she was a lot like Steve was now, and what Bucky was secretly turning into back in London; Hydra had used some kind of mixture of serum on her that left her hungry almost always, her appetite was huge, and now so were her meals. She knew it worried Steve, but bless his heart, he never asked, only urged her to eat.

"Where are you staying Steve?" She asked him carefully and watched him twitch a little before bobbing his head up and down like he needed to agree to something. "Right now I'm just down the hall from you, just to keep an eye on you," he explained. Winnie nodded briefly and finished her food, pushing the table away and twisting to climb from the bed, wanting to move around some.

Steve stepped back and watched her twist and bend a little to loosen up her muscles as she walked around and around the room. Finally, when she'd built up enough courage to, she turned to Steve and set her jaw. "I want to leave this place Steve, I want to go outside and not be here anymore," she told him.

Her suspicions were confirmed when his features flickered uneasily for a moment before he smiled broadly at her. "Are you sure you're ready?" He asked her, "I think maybe a couple more days might do you some goo-", she cut him off abruptly with a scowl, holding her hand up between them.

"Steve! No! I want _out_, I'm feeling fine, and unless I'm being held a prisoner here, too, then it's time for me to go," she responded harshly, she knew, but she wanted Steve to tell her what was going on. She knew something was wrong, something rippling just beneath the surface of this relatively normal situation, and she was tired of being treated like she was fragile and broken, because she liked to think that she wasn't.

"I…" Steve's voice trailed off and he swallowed, lifting his chin and nodding at her, "You're right, you deserve some answers, let me go get the people who can provide the approval for me to give them to you, alright?" She watched his face carefully and he stepped closer to her. "Do you trust me?" He asked her, and she nodded immediately, "Always, Steve." He put a hand to her cheek briefly and took a deep breath.

"I'll be right back, please wait here," he told her. Winnie watched him leave and then returned to her bed, climbing up and sitting on the edge of it. Her stomach rumbled anxiously, both from the huge meal she'd just devoured, and the nervousness that was washing over her like a tidal wave.

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Steve entered the room again, thinking that he might be sick, Tony Stark and Director Fury following him in. Winnie was sitting on her bed, anxiously kicking her legs back and forth. He didn't think she was even aware that her pillow was levitating off her bed behind herself. Her eyes darted up to them and the pillow shot across the room and landed at Steve's feet when she saw first Stark and then the intimidating figure of Fury behind him.

"Sorry," she whispered, and Stark chuckled a little, bending to pick up the pillow. "That's a neat trick, kid," he said easily. Winnie gave him a small, strained smile and they walked closer to her. Steve moved to stand next to her and her hand snuck up to grab onto his. Steve watched as Stark tossed the pillow into a corner of the room and absent mindedly tugged at the collar of his shirt.

"Why do I know you?" Winnie blurted out, her eyes locked on Stark. He smiled in response and nodded his head. "There's a really good answer for that," he told her carefully, his eyes moving back to Steve. She followed Stark's gaze and looked up to Steve.

"Tell me," she said quietly. Steve swallowed and nodded. "I never told you how you were found," he told her, "Peggy, Dum Dum, and Morita found you, at a Hydra base they had captured in Austria." He watched her process this and then nod slowly for him to continue.

"You were with Hydra for just over a year," he said, "And they must have decided to move you from wherever you were, and they decided to, ah, to freeze you." She blinked a couple times and then glanced over to Tony, before looking back to Steve. "Freeze," she said, her tone flat. Steve nodded.

"We don't exactly know how they did it, but they had a method of putting people in capsules, and then freezing them solid, keeping them alive, in the exact state they were frozen in, for however long they needed," Steve tried to keep his voice steady, wondering if she remembered any of that, any of Hydra's plans for her. She said nothing, but he saw a muscle in her jaw twitch.

"Winnie, when they found you, they thought I was dead," he managed, thinking he sounded stupid, "I took out Red Skull, I stopped what he was planning, but to do it, I had to crash a really big plane into the Arctic." Winnie leaned back a little bit, her brow furrowed.

"I think," she said slowly, "I think I remember him, Reinhardt, I remember him telling me you died. It made me angry." Steve swallowed hard again and then sat down on the bed next to her, gathering both of her hands into his. "Winnie, they only just found me a little over a month ago, buried in that plane, frozen in the ice," he explained softly. He watched her mind working, knowing that she wasn't going to be able to make the jump unless he filled in the blanks.

"I was in that ice for a long, long time," he told her. She yanked her hands back from him, her breath coming shorter and shorter. He grabbed her shoulders and looked her straight in the eye when he noticed the pillow was up in the air again. "Winnie, calm down, please," he told her, "You need to be calm or I can't tell you the rest."

She closed her eyes and her whole body stilled. He watched her visibly fight to calm herself. When she opened her eyes again, she seemed more settled. "Alright, I'm fine," she told him.

"Promise?" He asked her, and she nodded, a small smile on one side of her face. He glanced over at their audience and was barely even aware of their expressions when he started talking again.

"Winnie, I was frozen in that ice for nearly 70 years," he told her, his voice as steady as he could make it, "They just found me and dug me out, thawed me out."

"70 years," she repeated dumbly. He looked back at her and watched her struggle. "You were frozen in the Arctic for 70 years," she said again. He nodded. "But I'm here, you said the Commandos found me," she protested, her voice getting higher in pitch, "How did they do that Steve? How did they just find me?"

"They didn't just find you," he told her. She blinked and looked away, her mouth falling open so she could breathe through it.

"My father took the pod you were in away from the SSR, to keep them from destroying it, to save you," Tony stepped forward and delivered this calmly, but firmly, "He spent his entire life trying to get you out of it."

Winnie's eyes locked on Stark and then widened. "Your father?" She asked, the slightest of trembles in her voice. Stark took a step closer, his hand going to his collar again, without realizing it. "You knew him," Stark added softly.

The room was dead quiet before Winnie breathed out, "Howard." Tony nodded.

"Steve," Winnie said plaintively, "Are you telling me it has been 70 years since they found me?" Steve nodded carefully. He could see her trying to figure out something and her hands gripped the edge of the bed tightly.

"Steve," she said again. "Yes?" He responded quietly.

"What year is it?" She asked him in a flat tone.

"It's 2011," Fury replied for Steve, his deep voice delivering the year like a malediction. Winnie flinched hard and got to her feet, walking away from the bed, moving to the corner furthest from them all.

"Bucky," she said aloud, her voice a plaintive whine as tears filled her voice. He watched her put a hand on the wall, bracing herself, her shoulders hunching up as if to absorb an impact.

"He died on a mission while you were a prisoner," Steve said, struggling to get the words out, "In 1944." She fell against the wall then, pressing her face into it as she began to cry. Steve got to his feet, not sure what to do. He started towards her but she cried out against the wall, "Don't! Please!"

He stopped in his tracks and watched her sob against the wall, her hands balled up into fists next to her face. Behind him, he could hear Stark and Fury leaving the room. Steve stood in the middle of the room, unable to move, and watched Winnie mourn her 70 year old loss.

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"My mother?" She asked tonelessly.

"She passed away in 1965, from old age I guess," he told her gently. Winnie didn't look up from her hands that were balled together in her lap. They were sitting outside, in a huge open field behind the mansion that Stark had been keeping them in all this time. It was well removed from any city, and Steve thought that this was a good thing; easier to absorb.

"Howard?" She asked next, still not looking up.

"He and Tony's mother died in a car accident in 1991," he responded. Winnie nodded minutely and picked at her cuticles.

"Peggy?" She asked. Steve didn't respond immediately and her head swung up. She narrowed her eyes at him and he felt the shirt at his neck bunch up and pull him closer to her. "You promised you wouldn't lie," she growled at him.

"Winnie," he said, the one word falling heavily from his lips, and his shirt suddenly sagged. They were quiet for a moment and then she muttered, "Sorry."

"No you're not," he muttered in return. She tilted her head to the side, to look up at him again, and just glared.

"Peggy is a very old woman," he told her. Winnie's face lit up. "Can we see her?" She asked, the hope and eagerness in her voice almost more than he could take. He didn't want to deny her anything, but he wanted to be realistic.

"She's old, Win, and sick, we'd have to check with her family, you understand?" He explained. She took a deep breath and looked up into the blue sky above them. "Yes, but let's ask? Alright?" She replied. He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

"We will," he said.

"Did we win the war?" She asked a moment or two later. Steve smiled, "Yeah, we did." Winnie smiled a little herself and then looked back down at the grass next to herself.

"Tell me please," she said after a long pause, her voice so quiet he could barely hear it. He'd been waiting for this question, dreading it, but was somewhat relieved that she was well enough to ask it in the first place. It had taken two days of stormy grieving before she was able to function better. In that time she had torn the room she was in apart, heaving the bed, the bedding, the mattress, the tray table, the light, everything she could, across the room, wrecking the floor, ceiling, and walls in the process.

He didn't know what was more upsetting: that she done all of that while sitting in the middle of the room with her knees drawn up to her chest, or that she seemed to grieve like Bucky had for her, wanting to destroy things around herself. When she had calmed down, he'd had to nearly scream at Fury to get him to give the ok to take her outside of the room. Tony had produced clothing for her, strange modern garments that he thought Winnie looked weird in.

"We were trying to capture Zola, from his train, remember the one the Colonel had been talking about?" He began, and Winnie nodded at the question, "He and I, we were under fire, a Tesseract weapon, it tore the side of the train open. I was down, and Bucky grabbed my shield to block the next blast, and he was knocked out through the hole."

Winnie started to cry softly, but Steve decided he had to get it all out now. "I tried to get to him, but the bar he was hanging onto, it just snapped and he… he fell," Steve finished, shuddering hard at the searing memory of Bucky falling, screaming on his way down. He wouldn't tell her that, he would _never _give her that visual.

Winnie put her face in her hands and wept. He heard her whisper Bucky's name several times and put his arm around her. She tipped into his side and cried for a while longer until she managed to calm herself, catch her breath again.

"We were going to get married," she whispered, "If the war wasn't over by New Year's, we were gonna get married, Steve."

"I know," he answered her.

"I loved him," she said sadly, her voice tiny, "I loved him and he's gone."

"I know," he said again.

"Why couldn't I have just died?" She burst out suddenly, pushing away from him and getting to her feet, pacing away a few steps. She screamed up at the sky angrily, like the blue above was to blame. "Why didn't they leave me frozen?! I don't want this! I don't want to know this!" She reached her hand out in the direction of a nearby scrubby bush and the small plant tore from the ground. She glared at it and it hurled across the field, disappearing into some tall grass.

"I don't want to be this!" She cried, turning to him, her hands fisted at her sides, shaking with rage. Her face and her neck and her chest were flushed red, and Steve took a moment to stare at her, backlit by the sun, her short hair blowing around her head. She looked like a vengeful spirit.

"Me neither!" He screamed back, leaping to his feet and standing before her. His outburst caught her off guard and she paused, nearly panting, as she looked over at him.

"I made a choice! I chose to die saving people! That was _my_ choice! The only one I had after losing you and Bucky! And now this!" He yelled, waving an arm out around them angrily, "I'm nothing here! I'm a relic! A story! A nothing! I have no purpose, no reason to be here, I woke up in a nightmare, alone, and it's like a sick joke!"

Winnie said nothing, just sniffed loudly and pressed her lips together tightly. "I'm sorry," she said to him softly, regretfully.

"What?" He asked, surprised by her apology.

"I don't like this Steve, I miss everything, I miss everyone, I miss him," she said, staring him directly in the eye, "But if I have to be here, be this monster in this strange place, then I'm so grateful I'm here with you." He stood up straighter and smiled a little.

"Really?" He asked her and she stepped closer, leaning in and hugging him around his chest tightly. "Yes, I don't want to be alone here," she told him.

They were silent for a few minutes.

"You won't be alone here, ever," he told her. She nodded against his chest.

"Do you have a home here? In 2011?" She asked carefully, and he laughed shortly. "Yeah, actually, I do," he told her, resting his chin on her head, "Some of your things are there, from before."

"Really?" She asked, her tone curious.

"Really, that makes it your home too, I guess, if you don't mind having me as your roommate," he responded. Again they were silent for few moments.

"Steve?" She finally said.

"Yeah?"

"Let's go home."


	8. Chapter 8 - The Initiative

_**Chapter 8 – The Initiative**_

_**2012 – Washington, DC**_

"You didn't go to target practice again, why?" Steve griped, glaring at her as she sat curled up reading on the couch. He had just walked through the door and by the way he smelled, she knew he had likely been out doing some training with a SHIELD agent again.

"You know Director Fury wants you trained up, like me," he continued, tossing his gym bag on the floor. Winnie put her book down on the arm of the couch next to herself and grimaced. "Why bother?" She responded in mild irritation, "I'm not a super soldier, Steve, I'm not even a regular soldier!" She got to her feet and walked past him, into the kitchen, grabbing a mug and sticking it in the large silver machine for making coffee that Tony had given them, as a house warming gift when they'd moved to DC a couple months ago.

She picked up the manual that came with it and the 'idiot instructions' Tony had done up for them, since she and Steve were each fairly hopeless with technology. The cheat sheet from Tony had little symbols drawn on it, marching down the page, each one depicting a button on the machine, and next to each an '=' and then brief, clear wording for what it did.

She chose regular coffee (black button = regular joe) and leaned her back against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest as she continued. "I'm not running any faster, Steve," she continued, in a dry voice.

"I know that," he replied from the living room, exasperated.

"I'm not much stronger, not like you in any way, at least," she added.

"I _know,"_ he replied.

"I can toss things around in my head, and you could quite likely shoot me a couple of times or hit me with a car and I'd just eventually heal over the course of a few days, but that's probably not the kind of thing that will help SHIELD very much!" She called to him.

"Winnie, I know that," he said from the living room, his voice getting louder as he walked towards the kitchen. He appeared in the doorway and leaned against it, crossing his own arms as he kept talking, "But, _you_ know that Fury wants you to be part of SHIELD, we're 'inextricably linked' to SHIELD, as he puts it – so you need some basic training."

She rolled her eyes at this and grabbed her mug of steaming coffee from the machine when it made a pinging noise. She wrapped her hands around the mug and let her eyes bounce around the kitchen, trying to look everywhere but at Steve.

"What? What are you avoiding telling me?" He asked her shrewdly and she gave him a pained smile. "You need to get out of my head," she muttered, slinking past him to head to the couch again. She sat in her former spot, curling her legs up next to herself, as she cradled the hot mug in her hands.

"I don't want to be part of SHIELD, in any capacity," she finally said, laying out the biggest thing that had been bothering her for the past few months. Steve just stared blankly at her and she waited for it, the patriotism speech, the love-thy-country speech, the kind of thing Steve seemed born to do.

"Winnie, why wouldn't you?" He asked incredulously, "You've got a gift, a chance to really help the people of this country, maybe even the world! And you just want to sit on those powers and do nothing?" Winnie took a sip of coffee, relishing the warmth as it slid down her throat before glaring at Steve.

"This isn't a _gift!_" She found herself yelling at him unexpectedly, "I _hate_ this! I can't even sleep at night without breaking things! The other day at Starbucks, the girl got my drink wrong and I threw a jug of milk through the window! Do you know how frustrating it is to think you can control something, that you can handle something, and then you just can't? No matter what, it manages to slip out!"

Steve was watching her carefully and he sat down on the coffee table directly in front of her. He reached out and took her mug from her, placing it next to himself so she wouldn't spill on herself.

"Did they know it was you?" He asked quietly and she sighed, rolling her eyes again. "I'm not locked up somewhere am I? Are there men in lab coats sitting around outside to study me?" She knew she was being what Tony liked to call 'snarky', but she didn't care, "I mean, _besides_ SHIELD of course! Because you can just bet your sweet bippy they're sitting out there, waiting for me to slip up enough so that they can lock me a damn cage."

"I would never let them do that, Win," he assured her, as he had so many times before, "And that's not what they want."

"Tony doesn't think so," she shot back, "He's warned me Steve –"

"Oh, here we go, the gospel according to Tony," Steve got up and threw his hands in the air, "What does Stark know? He's not part of SHIELD! He's on their radar because he's been involved in some pretty nasty stuff, of his own making!" She felt her face pinching together because she wanted to hit him. Steve hated Tony, or at the very least strongly disliked him, and it rankled her.

Winnie had thought Howard Stark was a hoot, and considered him a friend; she felt lucky that Tony was just as much her friend. Steve was watching her warily, and she knew he thought she was naïve, but honestly, she was beginning to think it was Steve that wasn't adapting smartly to their new lives. Steve trusted too much.

"I don't want target practice, you know if I shot a bullet in the wrong direction I could just try and divert it, you know I could," she told him. He shook his head at her, his lips pressed together and his eyebrows raised high.

"No," he said, "No I don't, no one does, not even you, because You. Won't. Train." She clenched her teeth together and looked steadily away from him, not wanting to fight again, something she realized they were doing too much of lately as their purposes drifted further and further apart.

"You could train with me, Win, it'd be fun, we could join SHIELD _together_, do this as a team," he urged her hopefully.

"I'm not a Commando, Steve! I'm not an agent! I'm not _HIM!"_ Winnie launched to her feet, as the TV crashed off its stand and smashed onto the floor and the windows shook in their frames. She ignored it and raced for her bedroom, slamming the door behind her without so much as touching it.

She sat on her bed and stared miserably at the carpet, regretting her words, knowing they would hurt Steve. Knowing they would only tear the scab off her own wounds that could never seem to heal. She let herself cry a little bit, over Bucky, feeling the familiar burn that his death and his memory still brought.

She'd read a bunch of books on grieving and mourning, Tony had offered to order them for her on his internet. She decided she needed as much help as she could get with dealing with grief – she and Steve had lost much more than just Bucky. They lost every single person they'd ever known, except for Peggy, and the poor woman only remembered who they were about half of the time. They'd lost their lives, their proper-time-period lives and the potential futures that should have followed down that path. They lost the world they knew.

She knew one year wasn't long enough to really come to grips with the enormity of what they'd lost. She glanced over at her nightstand and the framed photo of her and Bucky there floated over to her hand. She grasped it tightly and stared hard at him, his features, his hair, his smile.

"I love you," she told the picture, imagining in her mind that she could hear him say, "You know I do" back to her.

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Fighting made him angry, but not at Winnie, he knew she was frustrated, that she felt trapped. He knew she was deeply confused. Fury had tried to warn him about the potential for psychological damage that her time with Hydra may have inflicted on her. Piling the trauma of finding out about Bucky, and being frozen, and the loss of everything else only deepened what ever might be there.

She had gone into as much detail as she could, recounting over and over to Steve, to Fury, to a tape recorder and video camera, everything that Hydra had done, as far as she knew. She allowed them to take all manner of samples from her, to study her, to figure out what was coursing through her right now.

The answer was: they weren't sure. _Something_ was there, just like they knew that there was _something_ in Steve. But since Erskine's formula was lost, they couldn't do much beyond attempting to replicate it to try and discover what it was.

Discovery. That was word that turned Winnie as pale as sheet, and in the beginning used to make her nearly pass out from nauseating fear. Over time he managed to get from her that "Discovery requires experimentation" was a pet phrase of Reinhardt's and even now Steve shuddered to think about where she had been, what they'd done to her.

If Reinhardt were alive now, Steve would gladly beat him to a bloody pulp, a violent impulse that felt foreign to him.

Her nightmares were so frequent, he could almost time them, and though she awoke sobbing from a sad dream about Bucky every now and then, he knew the majority of her dreams were twisted memories of the Hydra facility. He would often find her room destroyed in the morning as her unconscious mind tore it to shreds around her, and they had taken to securing things to the floor, walls, and other surfaces with nails and wire, to prevent the constant destruction of her belongings.

After this last fight, he could hear her crying softly in her bedroom and wished she would go see a doctor; Fury said head doctors were quite common now, called therapists or counsellors, and that a huge portion of the population went to see them, to try and manage and understand their own emotions. Winnie wouldn't go though. He had a feeling trusting doctors was not going to come easily to her ever again.

He cleaned up the TV and stared mournfully at the pieces, knowing that there was no way to get this one repaired. He shoved it all in a big box and swung his gym bag over his shoulder, heading downstairs to throw out the TV and then walk across the street to his boxing gym.

It _was_ his_,_ too. SHIELD had it set up just for him and Winnie. Everything was their-era authentic, and though other agents would use it, most often only he would, and Winnie would frequently join him. She never exercised or boxed, but she said she loved the way it felt in there and would just sit against the wall, or lay on her stomach in the boxing ring, reading a book while Steve pulverized punching bags.

He headed over there today and set to work, punching all of his frustration out. After about an hour, he heard the bell on the front door tinkle and then heard quiet footsteps behind him. He didn't stop punching.

"Steve," she quietly, and he reached out and stopped the bag from swinging, turning to see Winnie standing there, dressed in odd clothes. She had on long black shorts, white sneakers, and a huge white t-shirt. She normally tried to dress as true to her old self as possible, so this clothing was bizarre to say the least.

"What are you wearing?" He asked her, unable to help himself. She blushed and looked down at her clothes. "This is all I had that looked like what the Google said was 'boxing ring apparel'," she explained. He raised an eyebrow at her, trying to suppress the smile that fought with the corners of his mouth.

"I don't want to try to be a soldier, Steve, super or otherwise," she said in a firm tone, "But I do want to learn to control what I've got, to make it work for me." He smiled at her then and she returned it, looking a little relieved.

"I'm really glad to hear it Win, but I don't know how much of that training we can do here," he answered her laughingly. She smiled wider and gestured at a punching bag. "Oh, that's fine," she told him, raising an eyebrow at him, "I just thought it might be useful to at least know how to throw a good punch."

Steve laughed and reached for her shoulder, drawing her in for a hug before leading her over to select boxing gloves that fit properly. He was digging through the shelves of them when he paused and looked over his shoulder at her.

"Just so long as you don't plan on punching me," he joked with her. She laughed and waited until he turned around again before responding.

"I wouldn't waste my time punching you, it would likely break my fist," she said drily, "It's more efficient to throw a car at you, don't you think?"

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It surprised her how comforting she found certain elements of Washington. A lot of it looked the same, at least the historical portions of it did, so she often enjoyed going out and walking around and around the area, spending hours and hours outdoors, people watching, staring at the sights and just generally letting her mind go blank.

Now that she was training a little at the Triskelion, she had to admit that she was feeling a little more driven. No matter how much they pushed her, she refused to go through SHIELD basic training, deciding that they could train up all their 'normies', but as a 94 year old ex-Hydra science experiment who could move things with her mind, she didn't have to.

There was a huge gymnasium, several floors underground, that they set up as a training ground for her, and Fury had one of his most aggressive agents in there to teach her. SHIELD had no basis of experience for someone like her, so they were all flying by the seats of their collective pants, but Winnie had to admit that she found Agent May at the very least hugely interesting.

Peggy Carter used to be her example of a tough woman fighting in a man's world, but Winnie was forced to concede that Agent May left poor Peggy in the dust.

She shrieked in pain and tumbled across the gymnasium floor after May had some mechanism in the walls launch a crate at Winnie, while on the other side of the room something was shooting tennis balls at her and May herself was shooting a paint gun at her. Winnie was fairly certain the objective was to keep everything off of herself – and up until the paint gun she was doing really great at deflecting the tennis balls, sending them bouncing around the room instead of into her.

When the paint gun came out, her heart nearly stopped because she thought it was real, especially because May had sadistically chosen red paint. So when the first one exploded against her chest Winnie had let her guard down completely and had been pelted with several tennis balls at once.

"Come on Johnson!" May had yelled at her, "Get it together – it's just paint – I want you to dodge this!" And she fired multiple rounds at once directly at Winnie. Her hands flew up instinctively and Winnie was able to just barely halt the forward momentum of the paint filled balls, making them freeze tremulously in the air a few feet ahead of her. Grinding her teeth together she forced them to the ground, where they exploded on impact.

She heard the gun going off again and then the sound of the tennis balls coming back and was able to halt the paint balls again, and grab a nearby gym mat, holding it like a shield in front of her body as she ran around the room. Then came the crate. It was unexpected and hurtled out quickly, and it painfully slammed into her. She rolled several times, colliding with several things laying around as obstacles and lay on her back, panting, only to feel several tennis balls slam into the ground around her head, and then, a paint ball smash into the side of her neck.

This enraged her. She couldn't believe May would have a huge plastic crate shot at her, take her out, cause her pain, and then, not only _not_ stop to see if she was alright, but continue her assault. Winnie leapt to her feet and glared at May.

"Stop!" She yelled at May, and the agent merely signalled at something and Winnie heard the wall opening this time, as a second crate was shot out at her. She turned and faced the thing and grunted with effort as she redirected it, launching it with a cry of anger into the machine that was ceaselessly firing tennis balls. She shot her hands out in front of herself and threw them into the effort and was momentarily gratified when the crate crashed gratingly into the tennis ball cannon, all of it smashing into pieces and sparks.

She whipped around to face May and began to walk straight towards the agent, her brow drawn down into a glare and her teeth grit together in concentration as she parted the wave of paint balls in front of her, pushing them so they flew around her, slamming into various objects behind her. When she was close enough, Agent May charged her, the paint gun hoisted up to her shoulder and Winnie realized the woman meant to attack her physically.

_This_ wasn't part of the training.

Without a thought, Winnie snatched the gun from May, tore it into pieces in front of her and then after a half-second pause, where May's dark eyes darted up to hers and a small smirk pulled at the agent's mouth, Winnie began to torpedo the pieces of gun at May.

The agent turned and rolled, ducking behind pieces of equipment that were swiftly splattered with the loose paint balls that Winnie had liberated from inside the gun, before the equipment May was using as cover was heaved across the room with splintering crashes. Winnie grew more and more determined, nearly out of her mind as she stopped seeing this as training and shifted into some other place in her mind, only seeing an enemy that was intent on hurting her. When May flew at her, slamming her to the ground, Winnie tried with all her might to treat the woman as an object and bodily throw her, remembering at the last moment that she couldn't move human flesh and bone.

Both women managed to get to their feet, facing off, and Winnie grabbed the back of May's shoes and ripped them sideways, forcing the woman to fall hard to the ground. Her moment of satisfaction was ruined when May tucked and rolled neatly, kicking off her shoes. With a growl, Winnie grabbed at May's clothes, wrenching them tightly about May's neck and dragging the woman across the floor and halfway up the wall. Winnie was nearly seeing red and was panting angrily at this point and that was when a voice cut through the speakers overhead.

"Enough! That's enough!" It sounded like Fury, and Winnie paused, catching her breath and suddenly awakening to what she had done around herself. May slid to the ground with a heavy thud and smiled at Winnie, but Winnie was already lost to the horror of what she'd done to the room, the equipment, what she had _wanted_ to do to May.

"Oh my god," she whispered, spinning back to May, "I'm so sorry." May shrugged like it was nothing and they both turned to a door opening far on the other side of the room. Fury entered in a flourish of black trench coat, and even from this distance Winnie knew he was angry.

May leaned close to her and murmured, "No matter what he says, that was beautifully done." Winnie turned in surprise to look May full in the face. The woman was entirely sincere as far as Winnie could tell. "I nearly _killed_ you," Winnie told her, and May shrugged.

"But you didn't," May countered reasonably, "You were told to stop and you did – that marks the difference between a mindless monster and a valuable asset." Winnie blinked and looked around the room again, at the pieces of equipment lodged in the floor, walls, and ceiling, and she grimaced. May placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed tightly.

"Beautifully done," May whispered, before standing at attention as Fury finally reached them.

"Agent, you're excused, get to medical immediately," he told her severely. Winnie stared up at Fury, her eyes huge and her mouth pulled down in an almost fearful frown. He glanced around the room quickly and then back down at her. "Walk with me, will you?" He asked her, gesturing towards another door at the far side of the room. Winnie nodded and followed him.

"That was…" his voice trailed off for a moment, before he shook his head, "That was certainly something."

"I'm sorry Mr. Fury, I didn't mean to ruin the gymnasium, I just…," Winnie's tone was apologetic, but she let her sentence trail off aimlessly.

"You just what?" He asked her, clearly not about to let it go. Winnie wiped at something in her eye and realized it was paint splattered all over the side of her face. "I got angry," she finished quietly.

"You might find it hard to believe, but I have some experience with things getting destroyed because someone got out of control angry," he replied. Winnie looked at him quizzically and he waved a hand at her. "That's a story for another time, forget I said anything," he said. She nodded slowly and lifted up the edge of her t-shirt sleeve to try and scrub at her face.

"You've spoken with Steve?" He asked her, and she glanced sideways at him before nodding, her face more solemn. "Well, I know he's decided to come tomorrow morning, but have you?" He persisted and she looked away awkwardly. "Is that a no?" He pressed and she finally stopped walking and turned to look at him.

"I don't want to fight people," she said flatly. He pointed back at the way they'd come. "That room in there says differently," he told her.

"I was angry! At her! At being so hounded! I'm not going to fight _your enemies!_ I'm not going to run around in the real world throwing things at people!" She was angry now. He stared at her with his one good eye and she felt pinned to the spot, a sudden wash of longing for her old, simple life flashing before her eyes – she knew that no man, anywhere, back then, would have _ever_ dared to ask her to do this.

_This new world and it's equality,_ she thought a little resentfully, torn in two because she like being taken seriously, listened to, and respected for the most part, things that weren't as common back in her time, but she hated that she was expected to do these things by herself. She knew it was a war with herself, her aggressive side hungering for more, while her passive side wanted to just hide away from it all.

"I want you to watch something, I already showed it to Captain Rogers last night, and now I want you to see what we're dealing with, and why we need your help," he told her calmly, "There's a lot you need to be brought up to speed on if you decide to join us in this."

"Fine," she replied, thinking that no newsreel or propaganda film would change her mind.

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"I'm such a fool, a fool and a patsy," Winnie grumbled next to him, her head resting in her hands as she watched the screen in Steve's hands. The green monster on the display, rampaging through what Agent Coulson told them was modern day Harlem, gave Winnie a very pale complexion, as all the blood rushed out of her face.

"He's on our side," Steve rumbled comfortingly. Winnie shot him a look that said he was crazy and then stared back at the screen, watching in disbelief as the screen flickered from the rage filled creature to footage of a kind-faced man working in a lab coat.

"That's Bruce Banner, the alter ego, you could say," Coulson spoke up from his seat on the other side of the plane. "How did this happen?" Winnie asked him incredulously, her eyes locked on the man as he went through the terrible transformation process on screen.

Coulson sighed and approached them, pausing near Steve's side. "Because of you," Coulson said, speaking to Steve. Both Steve and Winnie jerked their heads up to look at him incredulously. "What?" They asked in unison, matching disbelief in their voices. Coulson nodded, looking mildly chagrined.

"He was trying to replicate Erskine's super soldier formula," Coulson said. Steve glanced over at Winnie, who was gaping open-mouthed at the creature on screen. "Steve, that could have been you," she murmured, her hand clamping down on his arm.

"Why did this happen? Why would he try?" Steve asked, wondering how on earth you went from creating a super soldier to creating a monster. "Gamma radiation, he thought that was the key to unlocking the secret of the formula, and it didn't work, obviously," Coulson explained, tapping at the screen of his own computer, "And why would he try? Well, because lots of people have, over and over since the day you were changed – both good and bad, everyone tried."

Steve felt Winnie shift uncomfortably next to him and he turned to look at her, seeing the sudden crumpling of her features that told him she was thinking of Bucky. Coulson seemed to realize what he'd said and opened his mouth to apologize.

"They tried with Bucky. Steve I never told you this, but it was working, slowly, but it was working," Winnie said softly. Steve leaned away from her, his face tightening in disbelief.

"What?" He breathed in confusion. A glance to Coulson told him this was also news to the Agent, who leaned forward with a shocked, rapt expression on his face. Winnie looked both sorrowful and uncomfortable.

"He made me promise Steve, not to tell you, not to tell anyone, he was terrified of being subjected to more tests and experiments if he did," she explained softly, picking at a loose thread on the side of her dress, "But he was getting stronger and faster over time, each time you'd return from a mission, he would nearly collapse in relief – he could finally talk to me about it; he hated to hide it from you."

"Are you saying Hydra found a way to replicate it, to successfully replicate it?" Coulson asked in growing agitation. Winnie got to her feet and began to pace in the small space. "No, they didn't because he wasn't changing all at once – we're talking over the course of nearly 3 years, and even by the last time we were together, he wasn't at Steve's level," Winnie told them, looking back and forth between Steve and Coulson.

"And me, look at what happened with me!" She cried, "Red Skull and Zola, they said they wanted to try it on a woman, because they hadn't yet – to see if it was different." There was resounding silence in the plane and Steve thought even the pilots were listening to this in rapt attention.

"And it didn't work the way they wanted with me either – all the healing properties, none of the strength," she finished with a forced chuckle and Steve held his hand out towards her. She smiled at him and took it, sitting next to him, letting him wrap an arm around her. He appreciated the comfort as much as he did, he knew, as he mulled over his thoughts.

"You were always more of a thinker, Win," he joked with her, "More concerned about using your mind then fighting in a war." She laughed and Coulson laughed, and Steve hoped the mood of the moment was moving up, instead of down.

They were all quiet for a few moments, Winnie leaning against his side as she slowly flicked through pictures of the people they were going to be meeting, Steve just enjoying the closeness of having her there, the comfort of having a bit of his past right next to him now. He looked up and realized that Coulson was watching them with something like amazement.

The agent looked at Steve almost guiltily and then looked away. "I just have to say it," Coulson said quickly, "It's an honor to meet you and work with you." Winnie chuckled quietly next to him and Steve glanced down at her face which was still staring at the pictures on the screen in front of her.

"I'm glad to help, I just hope we're the right ones for the job," he told Coulson, who nodded exuberantly and then blathered on a little bit about how he'd watched Steve be unthawed, how exciting it was.

"You too, Miss Johnson," he'd said over his shoulder, "Meeting you in person is like meeting someone from my favorite old movie." Winnie looked up at him startled and her eyes widened. "What?" She said in disbelief as Coulson nodded excitedly and walked towards her.

"The adorable Winnie Johnson!" He said pleasantly, making Winnie turn nearly fuchsia with embarrassment. She waved a hand at him. "That was all staged," she said in an attempt to brush it off, before pausing, her eyes going a little unfocused, "Well not all of it," she added softly. Coulson pushed forward, turning back to Steve, smiling almost shyly.

"We've redesigned the uniform, I hope you don't mind it," Coulson told him, "I helped with the design." He smiled brightly at Steve before turning back to Winnie, "For both of you." She flinched like she'd been struck and turned disbelieving eyes to Coulson.

"Aren't the stars and stripes a little outdated?" She asked haltingly and Coulson shook his head, explaining his thoughts on just how much the world needed something good and old fashioned. "I don't want a costume like Steve's," she finally cut in, stepping a little closer to them.

"I think I should be insulted," Steve mumbled, teasing her. She glared at him and then smiled nervously at Coulson. "I'm not certain how comfortable I am with wearing garments like Steve's," she began worriedly, "I don't think it's particularly appropriate for me."

Coulson nodded at her, smiling reassuringly, "Of course, don't worry, a lot of thought went into it, you won't be like Steve at all, it's really quite modest; designed for ease of movement, safety, protection, and a little style." Coulson's words had a mildly soothing effect and Steve watched her sit down in resignation.

He knew she was still struggling with this, with the role they wanted her to fill. He'd been watching the tapes of her training sessions with Agent May and was both impressed and terrified. Winnie had so much more potential than he ever thought, but so much of it was recklessly tied to emotion, and he thought that was impractical and when she managed to connect and control her ability, it was a sight to behold.

He glanced back at her again and realized she was looking at pictures of Bucky on the little screen Coulson had given them, and he felt sadness for her. A look over to Coulson showed the man's brows were drawn together in pity for her as he watched it too.

Steve looked away, there was nothing to be done, despite his sadness, he was a little more accepting of all this than Winnie was. What was, was. He couldn't change it, and needed to embrace what he still had, what chances and opportunities at life he had available. If that meant fighting this Loki to keep the world safe, than he would do it.

Winnie didn't want to fight, but she had watched the same videos he had, of the small town in New Mexico being torn to shreds, the devastation there. The callous murder and savagery that Loki had wreaked upon the people at the SHIELD facility that was recently destroyed, and the murder of innocent civilians being reported each day as he tore a path across the world. That had made her angry, he knew.

So she agreed, surprising everyone, including herself. Her only caveat being that she would only do what she could, and that she was allowed to stop it all when they were done, if she so chose.

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The plane landed and Winnie felt like she might be able to breathe again – although much smoother than the plane rides she remembered, this plane moved much faster, and she could feel it deep inside her stomach each time it rose, lowered, or banked.

When they landed, she stood next to Steve as the ramp descended and looked around in awe at the airfield on a boat. She'd never seen anything like it. Steve took her elbow and led her down, far less phased than she was. Coulson followed them and turned to greet a woman who had just arrived. Winnie turned and took in Agent Romanov's flaming hair and modern clothes, and for a split second felt stupid in her own attire.

She'd taken to keeping her hair fairly short, not caring for the constant reminder of her old life to be swinging around her face. Bucky had loved her hair. She shook her head now, to get the thought out of her head before she had time to fixate and wallow. She was wearing a fairly simple brown dress, one that had been amongst her possessions in Steve's apartment, and sensible shoes.

When Coulson was directed to the bridge of the ship by Agent Romanov, Winnie followed along a couple of paces behind Steve and the red-haired woman as they chatted. Winnie could feel eyes on herself and again felt a flush of discomfort when Romanov turned to include her in a joke.

"They're vintage, you know," the woman said, "Coulson's very proud." Winnie blinked stupidly and Steve glanced over his shoulder at her, "Trading cards, Win."

She blushed and nodded, hating the reference to all of that. Tony had thought it was hilarious to show her all the ways she'd been turned into a nearly fictional character over the years – the comics, the cartoons, the memorabilia, the newsreels, even a small action figure. "You're a collector's item, sweetheart," he'd laughed at her and she'd smiled awkwardly in response.

"You don't look thrilled," Romanov commented, her sharp gaze locked on Winnie's face before running down Winnie's clothes and back up to her face. Winnie sensed judgement there and sighed before shrugging. "It's just very strange," Winnie said carefully, not wanting to make Agent Coulson sound bad, because he was a very nice man that she was beginning to like very much, "It's just unnerving to have people turn you into property, or turn you into a _thing_, when you are your own person, after all."

Romanov cracked a small, genuine smile at her and Winnie nodded her head before turning away and scanning the area around them. Her eyes locked on a man in a baggy grey suit who looked out of his element, ducking around soldiers as he tried to look at equipment.

"Dr. Banner?" She blurted out in surprise. He was so _normal_, she was shocked into speaking without thought. He whirled around to see them and gaped at her and Steve with an open mouth, a reaction she was slowly getting used to. Tony had tried to explain to her that it was like seeing Marilyn Monroe or Joe DiMaggio in the flesh, right before you, as they had looked in their prime.

"I don't know who they are," she'd replied in confusion, making Tony laugh. But she got the point he was trying to make. They were famous relics from a golden age; heroes who had gone down fighting the good fight and were commemorated the world over for their lives and their deeds. It was like watching a statue come to life seeing them for the first time. She hadn't realized how pervasive their images had become, and not just theirs, but Bucky's and the other Commandos too.

It made this new life hard for her, being abruptly met with images of Bucky's face; one day on the back of a quarter, another on the television, one time on a t-shirt. It was like a kick to the gut and would often times leave her without breath and panicking, slowly levitating things around herself until she could claw her way back to some semblance of calm.

"Wow," Banner said, stepping closer, his wide eyes taking them both in. He shook Steve's hand and they exchanged pleasantries before he turned to her and shook her hand gently, between both of his own. She couldn't take her eyes from his face. He was such a nice looking, normal man, she couldn't wrap her mind around the changes she knew he underwent during extreme duress.

"You look a lot like your pictures," he told her, his eyes roaming over her hair, "Except for the hair, that's a lot more modern than the rest of you."

"I'm not a car," she told him somewhat shortly, not enjoying this need people had to comment on how she looked, or how short she was, or how her hair looked, or her clothes – it made her feel like the collector's item Tony had joked that she was. Banner looked extremely flustered and embarrassed for a moment and she felt suddenly terrible.

"I'm sorry," she said in a rush, "That was awfully rude of me, and I know you didn't mean anything by it – it's just hard being stared at a lot." Banner took a breath and nodded, smiling a little at her. "I hear ya there," he replied in a friendly tone, "Do I ever hear you."

The four of them started walking when Romanov told them it was time to go inside. Winnie glanced over at Steve and decided to lighten the mood at his expense. "I don't know how Steve does it, its worst for him," she said in a confidential tone meant to carry to Steve's ears, "But I think he's rather vain and enjoys the attention, so that would explain it." Steve glared back at her and she smiled sweetly at him.

"He's a regular Narcissus," she quipped jokingly to Banner, who glanced up at the large, blonde Adonis that Steve was and laughed.

"Winnie," Steve said in a scolding tone, as they walked inside the mammoth boat; a boat that was now apparently going to turn into a giant plane, which 'blew her mind' as Tony would say. Banner smiled with her and she stepped forward, grabbing Steve's arm and leaning on him.

"Say, Steve, you're not _really_ upset with little ole me, are you?" She said to him playfully, for once feeling a lightness in her chest that was allowing her to truly enjoy some mirth, "Why, how could you be?" She smiled charmingly up at him and he finally laughed and kissed the top of her head as they walked into a huge room filled with windows, computers, people, and futuristic technology that baffled her mind.

She and Steve both stopped in their tracks, frozen just inside the entrance to the huge room. She dropped Steve's arm as she turned around in a slow circle, trying to absorb everything around her. Steve was next to her, doing much of the same and she knew that their awe and fascination was making people look at them and smile, finding it amusing.

_Oh yes, laugh at the two old fogies, _she thought in semi-bitterness, which was swiftly washed away as she saw a man across from her using a computer screen that was projected in the air in front of him.

Her thoughts abruptly bounced back to Howard Stark and she grinned, knowing just how much he would have loved seeing this future.

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"I'm not wearing that," Winnie immediately said upon seeing the outfit displayed for her. Fury and Romanov looked over at her in surprise. "You said you wouldn't dress revealingly," Romanov said, "This is not revealing." Winnie swallowed and drank in the sight of the 'uniform' before her.

She knew that Coulson had meant well, that he meant to honor Bucky, to honor what everyone knew she felt for him, but she could not bring herself to even touch the fabric of the clothing in front of her. Romanov glanced over at Fury who stepped back and away, almost to the door on the other side of the room.

"Agent Romanov, please," Winnie began, feeling a tightness in her chest that wasn't going away. Romanov put her hand on Winnie's arm and squeezed lightly. "Please call me Natasha," the redhead murmured and Winnie glanced over to her and pressed her lips together before nodding.

"You know," Natasha said, stepping forward and picking up the sleeve of the fitted blue jacket in front of her, rubbing the soft, yet somehow durable material between her fingers, "I've read your file, all about you, Captain Rogers and Sgt Barnes." Winnie swallowed and looked away, saying nothing. Natasha dropped the sleeve and turned around, leaning her back against the cabinet that housed the uniform.

"It's fascinating, the three of you, three such normal, nothing-important people, all whipped up in this incredible story, spanning over such a huge period of time," Natasha began to examine her nails and Winnie felt her spine stiffen a little.

"We _were_ normal," Winnie said, "We should have stayed normal." Winnie waved an irritated hand at the clothing in front of her.

"You want to know what my biggest aspiration was 70 years ago? Since you're so fascinated?" Winnie bit the words off, growing angry, "I wanted to marry Sgt Barnes, have his children, keep his house, and grow old with him, my best friend, beside me, for always." She raised a hand at the uniform and the entire mannequin tore off the wall, floating a few feet out of the cabinet, making Natasha step quickly to the side, her face tightening in something like worry.

"Instead I get this? Dressing up like him? Playing around with my freak ability gifted to me through torture at the hands of monsters? Knowing I have nothing left and no chance at ever living the life I wanted, because it's dead and gone?" Winnie could feel her jaw twitching as she violently threw the mannequin to the floor, the head on it cracking it two. "_I. Don't. Want. This."_

Her chest was heaving and Winnie fought to rein in the wild feeling that was bubbling up in that place inside her mind where her monstrous ability lived. Natasha crossed her arms, her own face tightening in anger.

"Have _you_ read the files Winnie?" Natasha shot back, "Do you even know what Sgt Barnes did after being faced with your capture and death?" Winnie said nothing, only sucked in a breath of air through her mouth.

"He fought, Winnie, he didn't forget about everyone else around him, he didn't selfishly think of only his own emotions, his own pain, he pushed through it, and he used that pain to help the rest of the world," Natasha snapped at her, glaring, "He died a hero; he put everything he had into being a hero, and he did it all in your memory, to make you proud."

Winnie swallowed hard and clenched her jaw, her eyes drawn down to the uniform laying on the ground. She didn't want to admit it, but Natasha's words filled Winnie with a fierce kind of pride for Bucky. She bent to the uniform and ran her fingers over it tentatively.

The jacket had the same look and style has the blue one Bucky became famous for wearing as a Howling Commando. She knew by looking at it, that it was cut to fit her snugly all throughout her upper body and arms, for range of movement, speed, safety, and to assist her ability. There were dark brown gloves that looked made to fit smoothly and closely along her hands and wrists before opening up with a wider cuff to allow the sleeves of the coat to fit beneath them.

She pointed at the mannequin and lifted it from the floor, guiding it back to the wall and affixing it there. A belt, made from the same dark brown leather-like material as the gloves, sat just below the waist, wide and thick with multiple pockets, loops, rings, and small purses along it. She glanced over at Natasha who had been watching her with intense interest.

"The pockets contain things to help you: electrical charges, small explosives, stun darts, gas canisters, homing beacons, wire, things like that," Natasha explained softly. Winnie's eyes moved back to the figure on the wall, running her eyes past the belt to the dark maroon pants, made of a thick durable material similar to the jacket, cut to be fitted from the waist to just below her knee, where the fabric was a little looser as it tucked into nearly knee-high military style combat boots, made from the same dark brown stuff as the belt and gloves.

She eyed the two straps of the same material wrapping around the mannequins thigh, and the durable holster on its side. "You said no gun," Natasha said, "But you're getting one regardless, even if your aim here is terrible," Natasha tapped Winnie's hand, "Your aim up here is excellent." Natasha tapped Winnie's temple lightly, obviously indicating Winnie's ability.

All in all, the outfit was simple, but more colorful than she thought would typically be necessary, and Winnie said as much to Natasha, who laughed briefly and shrugged. "That's Coulson's doing, I think he's a little obsessed," the agent told her. Winnie couldn't help but smile.

"There's goggles too," Natasha told her, passing over the thick framed goggles with the wide black strap that was made to wrap around her head, the portion of it on her face looking thick enough that it would nearly be an eye mask. "Isn't this all a little… fanciful," Winnie asked uneasily, wondering if they were trying to turn her into a joke.

Director Fury stepped up next to them then. "Don't kid yourself," he told her firmly, "Every single aspect of this entire uniform has been designed for protective and combat-ready reasons." He took the goggles from her hands. "These for example," he said, staring her in the eye, "Night vision, glare reduction, heat signature reading, targeting capabilities, vital sign display, communication, navigation display – it's all in here."

Winnie gaped at the seemingly simple goggles and experienced a moment of wanting to flee the room, but then had a brief, yet vivid, flash of Bucky taking on Hydra with far less help and far more courage.

She sighed and took the goggles from Fury, briefly holding them up to her face. Natasha nodded at her in approval.

"Fine," Winnie said, trying not to sound defeated, "But no pictures of me in this get-up."

Fury shrugged with one shoulder and said flatly, "No promises."

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Winnie found herself sitting in the lab with Banner, idly taking notes of the various things that popped up on the dozens of screens around the room, or anything he was doing, almost without thinking. She knew her notes weren't going to benefit anyone, but it was like a comforting reflex action, making her feel almost as if she were back working with Howard again, wondering if he was going to blow them up today or not.

Bruce turned out to be easy company, not demanding conversation, or being nosy. He unobtrusively went about his work as she sat there. After a few minutes of steady silence she blurted out, "I have a uniform now." Banner nodded from behind the screen he was working at.

"I've heard about it, so does the Cap, apparently," he replied softly. Winnie nodded at his words and looked down at her notes, the words blurring together for a moment.

"I don't know how I feel about it," she admitted, feeling slightly guilty, "I'm just a person, you know? If Hydra hadn't have taken me, I would have pined away after Bucky and Steve were gone, and likely remarried at some point, had children, grown old, died long before now." Bruce said nothing and Winnie looked up to find him staring at her sympathetically.

"I would have missed him forever," she said carefully, "Missed them both, but life would have gone on as it was meant to. No flying boats, no Norse gods trying to kill people, no men in metal suits, or secret organizations."

"No giant green monsters, either," he added under his breath, making Winnie laugh a little. "Do you know that you're still you while it's happening?" She asked him slowly, and he looked up quizzically. "What do you mean?" He asked her. Winnie shrugged.

"I'm sorry, I'm prying," she told him, getting to her feet and walking to the windows that overlooked the huge command area they had been in initially. "No, it's fine," he said, coming up beside her, "Do you mean: do I remember being the other guy? Am I in his head? Is he in mine?"

Winnie turned and looked up at him, nodding slightly. Bruce angled his head a little bit towards her and gave her a small tight smile. "Well, I don't know about him, but I'm not hanging out in his head watching him break stuff," he explained, "But afterwards, sometimes I get little flashes of memory, nothing more."

"Oh, how I hate memory sometimes," Winnie responded without meaning to, before pressing her lips together as if to prevent more stupidity from leaking out. Bruce chuckled though and nodded a little.

"No, no, you're right, I'm on board that train of thought with you," he said to her easily. Winnie smiled and looked back down at the command area to see commotion as Coulson and Fury gathered around a screen one of the other agents was trying to trace this Loki through.

By the look on their faces and then the way Steve looked up at her urgently from below, she knew something was happening.

"Looks like you guys are up," Bruce told her quietly, turning away and walking back to his station.

"Great," she muttered.

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Winnie got herself into the suit, surprised with how easy it was to slip on, on top of the SHIELD standard issue sleeveless shirt and white bottoms that to her looked like scandalous underthings they were so short and fitted, though Natasha told her they were most certainly not, that they were in fact women's running style shorts.

She had pulled the goggles on and immediately hated them, hated the way they gripped at her short hair and pressed against her skull, and she pushed them up so that they sat on top of her head. When she was suited up, she stood in front of the mirror for a moment and stared at her reflection, at the stranger who was tentatively staring back at her.

The person in the mirror was not someone she would have recognized or even have wanted to know a year ago.

"Win?" Steve called from the other side of the door, "We need to leave! Are you ready?" She flinched hard and stared over at Natasha, who had helped her get ready this first time.

"Go," the red head said, not entirely impatiently. Winnie swallowed and opened the door and widened her eyes at Steve, his new outfit was still definitely on the patriotic side, but it was darker too, heavier, meaner. He on the other hand was staring at her in slack-jawed awe.

"My god, Winnie," he murmured, "That's exactly like…" his voice trailed off and his eyes moved up to hers and he blinked at her. "This is perfect," he finally said. Winnie nodded and the next hour was one of nervous impatience and anxious fear of what was to come for her.

It was one thing to throw gym equipment around with Agent May, dodging paint balls and tennis balls, but to go head-to-head with an actual mythical being was entirely something else. "You need to be on your guard," Natasha was warning Steve, near the front of the plane, "He can do things with his power, with that sceptre, things that we can't even understand."

Winnie didn't miss the glance back at her. She knew that now that the moment had arrived, Steve's gung-ho attitude regarding her being on his team, being part of all this, her fighting, was flagging.

"I'll go down first," Steve said stoically, pointing at the grid map in front of where Natasha was sitting, "Drop me there, I'll get him off that crowd, hopefully take him down." He turned back to Winnie and pointed at her firmly. "You don't even think about coming down, you stay up here and help if you can, from this distance," he ordered her.

She tilted her head to the side and took a step towards him. "Steve, I don't think I can use it from that far away, it would be next to useless up here," she explained haltingly. Steve strode towards her and glared at her. "That's an order, Winnie," he replied seriously.

So he went down alone and Winnie watched in horror from above as Steve took on the man in the bewildering armor, looking like something out of a fairy tale, which she supposed, being a Norse god, he sort of was. It became clear very quickly that Steve wasn't going to take the man down, and Natasha turned to her and nodded.

"Get down there, now," Natasha said brusquely. Winnie nodded and walked to the back of the plane, where the ramp stood open. They were very high up and her stomach flipped and twisted uneasily, but she thought of Steve and grabbed the handle near the edge of the ramp, looping her wrist and arm through it and then jumped out, falling and being lowered at the same time.

She landed hard, but remembered to release the handle the way she'd been shown and turned towards where Loki had Steve pressed to the ground, his strange staff pushing against Steve's skull in a grinding, violent way. She started running and saw the god mouth, "Kneel" to Steve. Looking around in panic as she ran at her painfully normal pace, she mentally reached towards the nearby wreck of a police car and tore it's already loosened bumper from the back of it and screamed as she threw it towards them.

Loki's head darted up at her scream and he caught the bumper across his face, flying backwards with it pressed to his head. Winnie released her hold on the bumper, allowing it and Loki to tumble across the ground on the other side of the square. She reached Steve's side just as he was snatching back up his fallen shield.

"I ordered you to stay up there," he growled unhappily. She glanced over at him and shrugged, pulling the goggles down over her face and pressing the side to turn all its gadgets on. "Natasha outranks you," she replied simply.

"Well, isn't this something," Loki spoke loudly, drawing her and Steve to stiff attention, "The Man Out of Time, and his faithful sidekick… who are you exactly, my dear?" She breathed in and out and mentally grabbed his cape, sweeping it up and over his head, wrapping it around his stupid helmet. She pulled his feet out from under him and started dragging him across the courtyard as he twisted and flailed, sceptre in hand, completely caught off guard.

"Win!" He heard Steve yell behind her. She used Loki's pants and boots to swing him toward a statue in the middle of the huge fountain that dominated a large portion of the square and didn't notice that he had managed to swipe the cape from its entanglement on his horned helmet and was now raising the sceptre towards her.

The blue bolt that came from the thing was quick, almost too quick, and Winnie abandoned what she was trying to do with Loki to throw her hands up in front of herself, flinging up a piece of cop car door like a shield, straining to hold back the blast that was fighting her ability. She could feel her feet sliding across the ground as she leaned into it, the car door coming at her closer and closer. The blue bolt was like living fire on the other side of her make shift shield, straining as hard as she was, alive with purpose as it continued on towards her.

She was only peripherally aware that Loki was striding confidently towards her now, and she didn't spare him a glance as she began a low, throaty, growling scream of effort to push the bolt and the car door away.

Steve flew threw her vision and smashed Loki to the ground, distracting the god, and with an audible cracking noise to the air, Winnie managed to heave the door and the blue bolt behind it, across the way, where it tore through a parked car, slicing the vehicle in half.

Grunts and growls caught her attention and she saw Loki and Steve battling each other, Loki just barely starting to get the upper hand. He kept shooting at Steve and Winnie felt herself burn up in anger as Steve was thrown against a concrete column hard enough to break a normal man's spine, as it was, he let out an agonized grunt and thumped to the ground. Loki was raising the sceptre to stab or shoot Steve with it and Winnie reacted impulsively.

She reached for the staff, her mind wrapping around it quickly and wrenching it from Loki's hands, before the staff reacted badly to its sudden possession, and it felt like a bomb went off inside her head. She let out one startled, guttural cry, explosive blue light filling her vision, and then collapsed to the ground as quickly as if she were a puppet whose strings had been cut.


	9. Chapter 9 - You Can Be Damn Well Sure

_**Chapter 9 – You Can Be Damn Well Sure**_

_**The Helicarrier – 2012**_

"She still hasn't come around," Steve mumbled, holding his forehead in his hands. Stark stepped further into the room that Winnie was laying in, taking Steve's worry as an admission. "She just tried to grab it?" Tony asked and Steve nodded.

"Not with her hands," Steve said quietly, "You know, with the other thing." Stark chuffed out a short laugh and then sat on the edge of the other side of the bed. "She should've known better," Stark muttered, poking a finger into Winnie's ribs, as if he was hoping she'd wake up from that.

Steve looked up, surprised by such a sentiment. "How the hell would she know that? _I _wouldn't have known that," he snapped. Stark looked over at him and raised an eyebrow. "I would have," Stark said cockily, "He's a freaking _god_, Cap, not some run of the mill bad guy out to snatch a purse, get my drift?"

Steve got to his feet and looked up at the ceiling of the small dormitory Winnie was resting in on the Helicarrier, as if seeking strength from above. "Stark, you need to leave now," Steve said firmly, "You're not helping and she doesn't need to hear this."

"She's not hearing anything right now, Cap-i-tan," Stark said in a dry voice, before jabbing Winnie in the ribs again, this time with a little stick that sent a shock into her, making her body leap on the bed.

"Hey!" Steve roared, charging Stark, prepared to toss him through a wall. "Why are you yelling? Why am I here?" Winnie muttered suddenly from the bed, coming to slowly and trying to sit up. Steve turned on his heel quickly, Stark immediately forgotten.

"Steve? Why are we here? What happened?" Winnie swung her legs off the bed and leapt to her feet, temporary coma apparently forgotten, and tripped when her knees went weak for a moment, causing her to sag into Stark. "Easy there, kid," Stark told her, pushing her to her feet and holding her steady with one hand.

Winnie's eyes darted to Steve, then back to Stark, then back to Steve. "Well? Did we get him?" She asked impatiently, and Steve gave her a funny look.

"Winnie, you tried to grab the sceptre, it hit you pretty hard," Steve said slowly, "You've been flat out for over 6 hours. Are you feeling alright?" She shook herself briskly and took a glance down at herself, Steve assumed to make sure she was wearing clothing, which she was – black jogging pants and the white sleeveless shirt she'd had on under the uniform.

"I'm fine, obviously, Fury wouldn't have let you keep me in here otherwise, right?" She shot back, heading across the room to where her clothing was being stored and grabbing the SHIELD standard-issue sneakers she'd been given upon arrival. She jammed her feet into them and looked back at the other two. Stark looked smug, Steve thought, and he wanted to slap the look off his face.

_Acting as if he wasn't worried, like I'm some kind of old mother hen worry-warting over her,_ Steve thought in irritation. "Is Loki here?" Winnie asked again, staring hard at Steve.

"Sure is sweetheart, and his brother's here too, if you can believe it, although _he's_ on our side," Stark threw out there. Winnie blinked at him in confusion. "Brother?" She asked, as if she couldn't understand, and both men nodded and replied at the same time, "Thor."

"Thor," she replied flatly. They both nodded at her and Steve watched her face cycle through a quick array of emotions before settling on mild incredulity. "Thor, the god of thunder, is part of SHIELD?" She asked them in disbelief. Steve nodded and rolled his eyes when he realized that Stark was shaking his head.

"Don't look at me like that, Cap, we both know that, at best, he's a barely tolerated uninvited guest," Stark told him. Steve looked back to Winnie and realized she was heading out the door. He bounded after her and followed her down the hall.

"Where are you going?" He asked her and she glanced up at him quickly before looking straight ahead. "To talk to Loki," she replied calmly. He put a hand on her arm and jerked her to a stop. "No, you aren't," he insisted. She shrugged his hand off and glared hard at him.

"I am Steve, and you know why? Because you pushed me really hard to be here, to become this, and now I'm part of something that makes me feel like maybe I'm trapped in some crazy dream," she exploded at him, jabbing her finger into his chest a couple times for emphasis, "When I grabbed that sceptre, it… it showed me things, bad things, and I want that crazy creep to answer some questions!"

Steve paused, and cocked his head to the side, thrown off for a moment. "What kinds of things? How did it show you?" He asked her. She closed her eyes and shook her head briefly. "That's not important, I need to get there now, so where is he?" She asked him firmly. He took a deep breath, pressing his lips together.

"Steve either tell me, and make this quick, or I'll just find someone who will," she insisted.

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She was pretty irritated with Steve. He refused to tell her and she had to go back and get it from Tony, who immediately answered her question, despite the glare he was getting from Steve. Then she had to get away from Steve, and that meant temporarily locking him into her room with Tony, breaking the locking mechanism on the outside of the wall.

The flash of hurt and surprise on his face as she had slammed the door closed still stung a bit, but she felt driven. When she told him the sceptre showed her things, she hadn't been lying. She saw what Loki wanted to do, but she also saw that what he sought was not likely to happen the way he wanted; if he managed to win against SHIELD, he was going to be double-crossed by his allies. She was hoping she could fill him in, perhaps change his mind. She managed to get into the area he was being held in, flipping open locks and pushing aside guards as she went.

For the most part, the guards put up little resistance, instead just immediately radioing Fury or someone higher up to let them know where she was going and what she was doing. When she entered the big open chamber that held the fish bowl Loki was in, she was surprised to see him standing near the glass, smiling at her as if he was expecting her.

"The sidekick returns," he said in a low, silken voice. Winnie smirked at him and walked right up to the other side of the glass. "I saw it," she said to him, her tone even despite the pattering of her heart at being so close to this maniac, "I saw what you're going to do."

"Did you really?" He queried, in a voice that indicated he didn't care. He turned from her, hands clasped behind his back in a relaxed manner. "I did, and you're going to fail," she told him. He paused for a moment and looked over his shoulder at her, his smile stretching up the side of his face she could see.

"Is that your threat?" He asked her, and she shook her head. "No, that's a fact, I saw it, the sceptre showed me," she answered calmly.

Loki nodded and walked a few more paces away before turning in a flourish to her, his face amused. "Oh, do enlighten me then, Sidekick," he mocked her. She rolled her neck in frustration and clenched her fists.

"You _will_ open the portal with the Tesseract," she told him flatly, "This will happen no matter what we try to do." He blinked in surprise at her and Winnie took a deep breath, speaking through a jaw tight with rage.

"I couldn't see where it was, I don't recognize so much of this world," she told him, "But you'll do it, and you'll let them through, the Chitauri, and they will cause a lot of death, a lot of destruction." He smiled like a jackal as she spoke and this made her so angry she could feel things in the room surrounding them jiggling in their frames, longing to get loose and crash around at her will.

Loki's eyes moved with interest around the room, smiling even bigger when he saw what was happening. "That doesn't sound like a failure darling, that sounds like exactly what I want" he responded. She made a face at him and unclenched her fingers, her hands shaking with the need to choke him to death with his own shirt. It burned her to her very core remembering the gut wrenching and visceral images of so many people dying needlessly and terribly, while this monster smiled and laughed.

"You look troubled, _Sidekick,_" he hissed at her and she clenched her hands up again and made him come sliding across the floor of his chamber as if it were ice, halting jarringly just on the other side of the glass.

He breathed out heavily, as if fascinated. "That," he said in throaty voice, "Is a very good trick."

"That was not a trick _that_ was a threat," she hissed back at him, "You _will_ fail. I have seen it – if we can't stop the invasion, if the Chitauri take over everything here on earth, you will be double crossed and have your power stripped from you. You will not be given what has been promised to you." She took a step closer to the glass, craning her neck back to look up into his face.

"That is what the sceptre showed me, and you should feel _honored_ I would waste my breath to tell you, to give you the chance to avoid this future," she spat at him.

"Honored?" He asked sharply, pressing his forehead to the glass lightly, "Why should I feel honored little bug? Little parasite that you are? Little mortal _beneath_ my feet?" There was spittle on the glass in front of his mouth, as he nearly growled out the words.

"You think because you can throw a few tantrums and shake the walls, that you can frighten me?" He asked her archly, one eyebrow shooting up over a cold eye, "You think I couldn't step through this glass and break your little neck if I wished it? You and your disgusting colleagues, you are all of you beneath me."

"Try it," she said, surprising him. He took a step back and paused for a moment, before vanishing before her eyes. She blinked several times and turned around, seeing the room empty as well. A cold finger of worry travelled down her spine as she realized she may have just antagonized this beast right out of its cage, when she should have simply said her piece and left. Her stupid impulsivity might cost everyone now.

She hurried for the door and suddenly he was there, in front of her. Winnie slammed to a stop and stared up at him, wide eyed in horror. "How can you?" She asked breathlessly. He smirked and advanced on her. "It's not hard, you simpering fool," he murmured darkly, "Did you think you were the only one who could play tricks?"

She found herself backed against a railing surrounding the ring in the middle of the room and halted, reaching out with mental fingers to try and grab at handfuls of his clothing, to push him back, drag him away. It was like trying to grab nothing and she could feel all the blood rush from her face in horror. He stood in front of her, coming to a gliding stop as if nothing in the world was wrong.

He reached a pale hand towards her face and stopped just short of touching her, instead swiftly closing his hand into a fist. "I could break you," he murmured, "Leave you here, broken, for your friends to find you and mourn over your corpse." Winnie felt a tremble start in her jaw that she couldn't bite back and fought against it, and the cloud of fear it flooded her mind with. They stood in a slight, quiet pause and he leaned his face towards her.

"I think I might enjoy hearing you scream," he whispered darkly, and with that Winnie's fear snapped, turning into anger, and she brought her knee up as swiftly as she could, intending to bring him to his. Just like that, her knee caught air and he was gone. She took in several quick, shuddering breaths as she looked around and then realized he was back in the fish bowl, laughing at her.

She didn't stay for more, instead turning on her heel and racing from the room. Running blindly through the halls of the great ship, shoving people out of her way until she was nearly at the laboratory again. She stopped there, leaning against a wall and breathing deeply, feeling the blood finally start rushing back into her head and hands again. She stayed there for a long time, her head leaned back against the cool wall behind her, counting her breaths and calming her heart.

Then she heard shouting in the next room, lots of angry raised voices and she moved carefully to the door, blinking in surprise at the group gathered within, all of them arguing loudly. When she realized Bruce was holding the sceptre, almost without realizing it, she felt a wave of fear move through her. Winnie reached for the door, pulling it open just as Steve warned him to put it down.

"Steve –", she managed to say, before everything shook and rumbled and was blown to hell. Then she was falling.

A few moments later and she was hurting, dazed and out of it, and lifted her head to realize that she, Natasha, and Bruce had slid down through a suddenly ruptured portion of the floor. She must have slightly greyed out and missed something, because when she really looked at Bruce, she saw him struggling mightily with himself.

"Winnie," Natasha whispered urgently, "Run, run now." Winnie pushed herself to her feet and shook her head, understanding what was about to happen when she saw Bruce get to his feet and stagger away a few feet, his body pulsing and expanding in a way that left Winnie feeling sick.

"Winnie, _run,_" Natasha cried and Winnie spun on her heels and reached out towards the woman, lifting and heaving the bit of metal that had the agent pinned to the floor. The metal clanged loudly at the same time that the creature Bruce had turned into roared with a volume that hurt her head. Winnie bent to Natasha and helped her to her feet, prepared to run. They both looked over their shoulders at the exact same time that Bruce's alter ego turned around and spotted them.

"Bruce, please," Winnie whispered, but the monster simply roared and charged them. "_Run!_" Natasha screamed and they both turned to race for a nearby staircase. Winnie shoved Natasha on ahead of her and that was just long enough for the beast to catch up to her, grabbing Winnie by the leg and ripping her roughly down the couple steps she had managed to get up.

She shrieked and tried to reach for the enormous hand that gripped her leg and couldn't, shrieking again and again as it raised her up roughly to its eye level. She turned her head sideways and was face to face with the creature that snarled within inches of her wide eyes. She caught movement and saw the other huge hand reaching for her head and knew it meant to tear her apart.

Before it could, a knife flew from the general direction Natasha had gone in, smacking uselessly against the green flesh it was aimed for. It was enough, though, the creature turned with a snarl towards the other woman, and Winnie was tossed to the ground like a useless toy as the monster slammed after Natasha, leaving a wake of utter destruction in its path.

She managed to avoid hitting her head this time and instead just lay stunned for a moment before she climbed to her feet and leaned up against a wall, trying desperately to get her bearings and not go into shock, so she could help the other woman.

Another hand reached out of the gloom behind her, grabbing her arm, and she screamed in horror, before realizing it was a huge blonde man who could only be Thor. He looked hardly tousled for all he was caught in the same explosion the rest of them were. He leaned towards her face.

"Tell me, where did the creature go?" He asked her firmly. She pointed in the direction of the destruction. "It's after Natasha," she managed to say. He turned without a word and raced away into the spitting and sparking darkness. She sat for a long time in the dark corridor, not certain about what she should do, before understanding that this was no accident.

It was an attack, and an attack now meant only one thing: someone was here for Loki. She shot to her feet and began to run recklessly through the maze of the dark space, until she found a ladder that led upwards, which she immediately began to climb. When she reached one of the bright hallways above the underbelly she had been in, she ran down it until she got a sense of where she was and began to run directly for the detention center.

She burst through the door into the room, just as Loki was being set free from his prison, and immediately ducked behind a series of columns at the entrance. Peering around them, she wasted no time tearing the guns from the hands of the people who were helping him, three in all. She threw the guns down the sides of the raised walkway surrounding the large room and heaved out a huge breath when she heard them clatter down further and further. Another peek and she ripped two of the guards off their feet, dragging their bodies over the edge to follow their guns as the clattered, banged, and screamed their way down to whatever was below the detention center.

"Ah! Is my little friend here?" Loki asked in a mirth-filled tone. His laugh rang out and she heard him clap his hands. "Come out Sidekick, come and see me – I'm certainly not playing a trick this time. Perhaps you'd like to see what it would be like for us to meet in here in reality?"

She heard him murmur something to the last man in the room and the soldier ran out a door at the opposite end of the detention centre.

"Come now, little bug, come and let us see if you can be squashed," he said, a harder edge to his voice. She remained silent, pressed up against the other side of the columns, torn between hoping he found her, so she could make him eat his words, and hoping he never found her, because she was terrified.

The room was deadly silent, the only noise to be heard being far away, in other sections of the ship. Winnie became convinced he would hear her heart thumping spastically and clutched a hand to her chest, as if to muffle it. She looked down at her hand for a moment, and suddenly a dark shadow fell over her. She looked up to see Loki, towering over her, his face hardly visible in the swath of darkness he created, except for the glint of his smile, stretched widely across his face. He reached for her, grabbing her by the hair and yanking her to her feet.

She kicked out at him several times, connecting with his legs, and although it didn't hurt him, he released her hair, instead grabbing her by her throat and shoving her back against the wall behind her. A blue glow caught her eye and she realized with horror that he had the sceptre.

"Oh yes, little bug, I've got it again, and I've learned," he hissed at her, watching in amusement as her eyes darted to various parts of his body and narrowed, her entire frame tensing up as she attempted to grab him. Each time her mind closed around any part of him, a small blue flash would tear through her mind, causing a peal of pain to ripple through it. She stopped after several tries, when the pain in her head was so intense she could barely stand it, her throat letting out choked mewls, several involuntary tears wending their way down her cheeks.

"I _learned,_" he whispered throatily, "I'm linked to it now, it is I and I am it." She felt her breath coming shorter and shorter as she stared up at him in something between rage and fear. He brought the sceptre up and brushed the side of her face with it, making her wide eyes look over at it without blinking.

"Do continue trying to play your tricks on me though, dear, I quite like to watch," he urged her playfully. Winnie pressed her lips together and tried to kick out at him, suddenly wishing with all her might she had let Agent May teach her how to fight. _Steve taught you to punch_, she thought suddenly. Her eyes turned back to his face and she threw a punch at him, catching him in the nose, putting everything she had behind it.

She could _hear _the bones in her hand breaking as she did it and he hardly stumbled back an inch. Loki began to laugh and took two steps back on his own, holding the sceptre before himself.

"Oh, I like you, little bug," he told her, his hyena smile growing, and he touched the sceptre to her chest, over her heart. Warm blue light filled her vision, filled her head, roiling through her chest and her entire body. She stretched her limbs out and shook her head at the sensation.

"Smile for me," he said in a dark voice. She looked up at him, her green eyes glowing an unearthly blue, and she smiled pleasantly while he laughed.

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Steve was borderline frantic. After Banner had thrown himself from the Helicarrier, after Natasha had reclaimed her fellow spy Barton by bashing his head against a metal pipe, after Stark had repaired the engine, just barely surviving it coming back online, after they discovered Thor was gone and Coulson was dead, they discovered that Loki had escaped with the sceptre and Winnie in tow.

Fury had been given security footage, showing her standing stock still as Thor rushed into the room and Coulson was murdered. When Thor had been ejected by his brother, Loki had reached his hand out towards Winnie and she had obediently put her own small one in his grasp. Footage traced them as they walked hand in hand through the corridors, Loki killing any agents he came across with a sweep of the sceptre he gripped in his free hand.

Horrified, Steve watched as they stopped at Winnie's chamber and she had stripped down to almost nothing in front of their enemy and put on her uniform, before taking Loki's hand again and calmly allowing herself to be lead to their awaiting freedom.

"What do we do?" He'd asked the dejected people around the table, his eyes moving to each person in turn. He felt a fierce fire burble up in his chest when Fury told them about Coulson, his belief in the Avengers Initiative, how they were all, Banner, Thor, and Winnie included, meant to be part of that.

That was how he, Barton, and Natasha, ended up on a stolen plane, racing towards the place Tony was certain Loki would strike: New York City. He only hoped that once they arrived, fighting against Winnie wasn't something they had to do.

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_**New York City – 1 hour later**_

She couldn't stop it, any of it. The person behind her eyes, the person controlling her limbs, controlling her ability; that person wasn't her – just a projection of what Loki wanted and needed her to be. She was unpleasantly trapped within her own mind, a voiceless spectator tied to her seat, unable to look away.

Hope had surged through her when Tony first arrived.

"Are you here to plead with me?" Loki asked Stark in a smug voice, ensuring that Winnie stayed by his side. On the plane, he had told her she was to stay with him, no matter what, and not to speak unless directly ordered to by him. She knew there was no real reason for that, other than that he wanted to feel like he had complete control.

"You are to be my escort for this, little bug," he had told her in a low, threatening voice, one of his hands idly playing with the ends of her hair, "You can witness the end of this suffering world, and the rise of the next." In her mind she raged and screamed, but outwardly she had smiled and nodded.

Loki had leaned back in his seat, the end of the sceptre resting on the ground beside him, as he regarded her. "That is a dreadful costume, darling," he told her in a teasing voice, "I'm endlessly amused by your peoples' need to dress their heroes up like children at play."

When she had nodded again at him, he had narrowed his eyes at her and regarded her carefully. "When this is all over, you may remain my pet, should you serve me well now," he decided aloud, his cold eyes trailing over her face slowly, "I find your tricks quite amusing, and would enjoy watching you perform them." Another nod from her.

"However, should this go wrong, little bug, then I can assure you that your death will be quite terrible," he promised her softly, grasping her chin between his index finger and his thumb, "Although, at the very least you'll die with your friends watching, so you might take some solace from that."

Now she stood next to him, blankly regarding Tony, who had only looked at her once, before grinding his teeth together and locking his jaw. She remained uninvolved with their conversation, hardly able to hear it unless the one controlling her body decided she needed to, but she didn't miss Loki gripping Tony around the neck and hoisting him in the air after failing to change Tony the way he had her.

She didn't move a muscle to help, even though her small, trapped, inner voice begged and pleaded her mind to help him. Loki looked over at her, Tony struggling for breath in the air above him. "Wave goodbye darling," he urged her. She had woodenly raised her arm and waved at Tony, whose eyes went wide just before Loki heaved him out the window.

Loki had her join him out on the balcony, and her body hadn't turned to watch the Chitauri attack, the sheer devastation of the city below them, it had instead watched Loki, as he had commanded her to watch him. "I want to feel your eyes adoring me," he said in a dark voice, "I want to know that you stand there, the ruin of your race all around you, and that you only have eyes for me."

It seemed they would have more visitors, because next Thor appeared, to battle his brother, and then try to appeal to him. "Stand back, little bug!" Loki yelled at her, "My brother is an oaf, and likely to kill you with his own stupidity!" Thor whipped his head over to her in surprise, standing stock still where Loki told her to, before lunging into the fray against his brother. Again she was forced to watch an ally fight, with no hope of assisting them and her inner turmoil was tremendous.

She had spent just over a year fighting against helping, against using her ability to do something good, and now she felt that all the things happening around her were her fault; if she had relented earlier, received more training, more training in everything, then perhaps she could have fought off Loki back on the Helicarrier, perhaps she could have taken out the threat he posed then.

Now she would have given anything to help, anything to jump directly into the fight to stand with Steve, with Tony, with the others. As it stood, all she could do was watch, frozen on the platform outside Stark Tower as even Loki left her, rolling into the fight himself, though certainly not on the side of good.

It didn't take long for someone else to show up, and when Natasha suddenly appeared on the lower balcony, making a run directly for the sceptre that Loki had dropped while fighting Thor, internal-Winnie begged and pleaded for the woman to notice her. She did, and Natasha did an almost amusing double take when she Winnie standing stiffly, arms at her sides, head not even turning to face her.

"Winnie?" The woman called, "Winnie!" But she couldn't respond. Natasha raced away along the balcony, moving in the opposite direction and Winnie watched her go, frustration and upset flooding her imprisoned self yet again. That was when she heard Natasha's voice behind her.

"Only one way to undo this," the woman murmured behind her. Winnie couldn't turn to look at her, had no idea what that meant, but then it didn't matter anymore because she was clubbed across the back of her head with something that felt like it could rival Thor's hammer and then she slammed down to the ground.

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Coming to was an exercise in pain, but she wasn't alone. She realized she was waking up because Steve was there, in a filthy, singed, Captain America uniform, lifting her up off the ground and carrying her back inside Stark Towers. She smiled up at him when her eyes finally focused on him and the relief on his face made her smile. He peered closely at her eyes and then his smile grew.

"They're green again," he murmured.

"Weren't they always?" She responded, as he sat her against a wall inside. He made sure she wasn't going to tip over and shook his head at her. "Not today they weren't," he told her. He stared at her again, his eyes roaming over the uniform before moving back to her face.

"It's hard to see you dressed like him, especially when you're just lying there, looking dead," he said abruptly, his tone hurting and guilty. Winnie glanced down at the jacket, running a hand over the buttons marching down either side of the front of it, briefly relishing the fact that she had control of her limbs again.

_What would Bucky have thought about today?_ She pondered briefly, before shaking her head and looking back up at Steve. "I'm not dead, my skull is particularly hard these days, remember?" She said quietly, trying to elicit a smile. He managed one in return and touched his ear for a moment as his eyes went unfocused. She realized he was hearing something in his ear.

"Yes, right here," Steve said aloud, and not to her, "Awake, seems fine." His eyes moved down to her and she smiled a little, before staring at his ear. Without thinking she pulled her goggles down over her face and pressed the side of them, watching the displays inside instantly flicker to life in front of her eyes. She tapped the side of the goggles next to the portion of the tiny screen that indicated communications. Two more taps and she was on their channel.

" – well, he's still mean and green right now, and he's wrangling the crazy asshole, so I think we'll have to wait on the shawarma," she heard Tony's voice in her ear and smiled in relief over to Steve. She hadn't been certain that Stark had made it out alive after Loki had thrown him out the window.

"Glad to hear your voice, Tony," she said plainly, knowing that speaking out loud would capture her voice perfectly. "Hey! Kid! Nice to hear you, too – see Romanov, you didn't kill her," Tony responded in a pleased tone.

"How was I supposed to know? She didn't look alive," Natasha responded wryly, "I was in a bit of hurry, couldn't stop to see if she was breathing or not." Winnie looked over at Steve and inclined her head towards him. "Is it over?" She asked him, and he nodded, his face twisting a little.

"Is it bad?" She asked in a softer voice, and he nodded again. Winnie struggled to get to her feet and started slowly towards the windows, clenching her stomach in preparation for the devastation the sceptre had shown her would come to pass.

It was worse that she imagined.


	10. Chapter 10 - Super Soldier, Super Hero

_**Chapter 10 – Super Soldier, Super Hero, Super Spy**_

_**2014 – Washington, DC**_

She hadn't seen Steve in a month. By the time she was dropped off outside their apartment, she was so excited that she skipped waiting for the elevator and ran up the stairs two at a time to reach their fifth floor apartment. She knew that, logically speaking, this was not faster, but she couldn't handle the jittery impatience of standing around waiting for, and then riding, an elevator.

At the door, she barely glanced at the lock and heard the mechanisms inside click, before she swung the door inwards. "Steve!" She yelled, dragging in her heavier than it should be backpack, "Steve are you home?"

"Win?" His surprised voice came from the living room and as she swung shut the door behind her, he rounded the corner into the hallway and charged her, snatching her up in a hug that squashed all the air out of her.

"Ugh, Steve," she managed, pulling at the back of his shirt. He dropped her instantly and smiled guiltily. "Sorry," he said, and she couldn't stop her smile back before leaping at him and gripping him in her own tight hug. "I missed you," she said quietly, hugging his familiar form for all she was worth.

"Me too, it's been strange around here without you," he replied, scooping up her bag for her with one hand and ushering her into the living room with the other. "Yeah, guess it's hard not having stuff broken every day," she mumbled, only half kidding. Case in point, they both turned back to the entry way, where the front hall closet door was hanging off its hinges, her excitement to be home having torn it sideways without her meaning to.

"I can fix that," he told her calmly. Winnie sighed.

"Going to train with Agent May a little more now that you're back?" He asked her casually, taking a seat on the far side of the couch from her. She shook her head and leaned down to remove her shoes, breathing out a sigh of relief when the military boots were finally off.

"I spoke with her today on my way home, she's still reassigned elsewhere, to a different team," Winnie told him, leaning back against the couch and just taking in a deep breath, enjoying the comfort of being home. He grinned brightly at her and then gestured with his chin at her.

"So, how was Russia?" He asked her calmly.

"I guess the reports haven't been written yet?" She asked, and he shrugged.

"I don't think so, Natasha takes her time with those, and you've only just completed the mission," Steve commented. Winnie made a face and reached for her backpack, yanking out a sleek black laptop. She popped it open and turned it on with an ease she would not have been able to even comprehend a year ago.

After a couple clicks, she pulled up her report, already completed, and turned the laptop to Steve. He peered at the screen and seemed to realize what it was. "You always did do your homework," he said teasingly. Winnie felt her face flush a little bit and then shrugged her shoulders.

"Hey, we were sitting on a plane for _hours_," she replied, snapping the laptop closed and shoving it onto the coffee table, "What else could I do?" He raised an eyebrow at her and shook his head. "I don't know, what were Natasha and Rumlow doing?" He asked her. She pressed her lips together and looked away for a moment.

"Natasha was sleeping and Rumlow was sitting there _still_ resenting the fact that he was stuck with us," she told him, "He doesn't like coming out on this spy stuff, I think he'd prefer to be out with you guys."

"He's not exactly needed on the stuff I've done lately," Steve told her and she shrugged. "Whatever, who cares about Rumlow? Tell me what you did while I was gone? Did you _finally _ask Kate out?" Winnie pressed. Steve squirmed in discomfort and got up quickly, walking to the kitchen. She rolled her eyes at his departing back and the predictable discomfort he experienced whenever she went down this path.

"Natasha said she could give me a huge list of the women you could date on the training floor alone," she called after him.

"Not necessary," he called back. Winnie shrugged and got to her feet, grabbing her things and going into her bedroom. As she unpacked her few belongings in her bag, she swiftly pulled out some fresh clothing and lay it on her bed. "I'm taking a shower, need to wash the smell of airplane off me!" She called to Steve.

"Fine," he replied from the living room, and she knew he'd have no problem with it because it got them off the topic of his love life. She knew she shouldn't push him so hard, and as she stood under the warm spray of the shower, sudsing her hair up with one of the modern, fancy, shampoos she had grown to love, she felt a ripple of guilt.

_How would you feel if someone was trying to force you to date?_ She thought, in mild horror, remembering the one time Natasha suggested that she either get with Steve or just date someone else, anyone else.

Winnie had thrown a refrigerator at the woman while she stood there trying to come to grips with everything that was heart breaking and wrong about every word out of Natasha's mouth. Luckily Natasha was quick on her feet and darted out of the way – unluckily the damage to the wall meant she and Steve had to go live in a hotel while structural repairs were done in their apartment, and the apartments above and below.

Pushing her face into the warm spray, Winnie remembered how angry Fury had been, how very close to being forced to live on a SHIELD base she'd been. "If you can't control _it," _Fury had warned her, "Then we'll have to control _you_, understand?" That had been bad, a really bad time, and coming on the heels of New York, she hadn't known how to deal with her own feelings.

Steve got her through it, though, as he always did, with words, and comfort; all the things he was good at. She knew that, from a logical outsiders point of view, perhaps she and Steve _should_ have just become some kind of super hero super couple, they had more in common with each other than with anyone else on the planet. They had a shared history, a shared affection, respected each other, trusted the other without question, and in fact _did _love each other quite deeply.

However, whatever Steve's feelings for her may have been once upon a time, oh-so-long ago, she knew he regarded her as his best friend, closest ally, and only living family; she felt the same as he did. Tony had wondered aloud around her one day if SHIELD was hoping the two of them would breed, like prized purebred dogs, creating more opportunities to study them, study their DNA, and wait with baited breath to see what the two of them could conjure up together.

Her absolute outrage at his even voicing such a thought led to almost a week of her avoiding contacting with Tony (which was hard to do, because if he was anything, he was persistent and inventive when he wanted something, and at the time he'd wanted to get a hold of her and apologize).

No, they may share an apartment, share lives, but that was all it was ever going to be and that suited each of them.

Winnie climbed from the shower and rubbed at her hair with a towel, which she'd begun to grow out right after everything with Loki. It was past her shoulders now, which was nice. Wrapping a bath sheet around herself, she reached for the one item that never left her body, unless she was showering; her engagement ring from Bucky.

Tony had initiated it, really. It came up in conversation one day, shortly after New York. "What thing do you miss most about life back then?" He'd idly asked her, likely expecting an answer regarding food or music. "My engagement ring," she'd answered immediately, almost without thinking. His eyes had narrowed for a moment as he nodded and looked away. She briefly explained that she'd had it when she was captured by Hydra, but obviously had no idea about where it had gone.

Somehow, he had a contact, somewhere within SHIELD, who had started furiously digging through all the Hydra-related storage back from the days of the SSR. And miraculously, they'd located her belongings, things that Hydra had locked up after taking them from her, and that were then subsequently locked up by SHIELD.

Her purse, her clothing from the day she was taken, and of course, her effects, were all in a box that showed up on her doorstep with a note from Tony right on the top, '_You'll need to miss something else now'_.

The box held horrible memories, most of which she and Steve shoved back into the box, but the ring was in a small baggie and it had taken her almost ten minutes to be able to touch it, pull it from the bag, and gingerly slide it on.

Now she had it on a durable chain she wore around her neck all day every day. Heading back to her room, Winnie could smell coffee wafting through the air and hoped that meant Steve had brewed her a cup. In her room, she slipped on the jogging pants and t-shirt she'd laid out for herself, plus a pair of warm socks, before padding out into the living room again. Steve was flicking through the TV channels and sat up straight when she entered the room again.

"I made you coffee," he said, pointing at her favorite mug on the coffee table. She smiled and tossed herself down next to him. "When do you have to go out again?" She asked him softly, after they'd both mindlessly watched commercials for a couple moments.

"Tomorrow night," he answered her, "I'm going to Iran." Winnie nodded and craned her neck side to side, trying to release some tension and relax. "I don't want to read your report," he said blankly, not taking his eyes from a pickle jar that was currently dancing and singing on screen.

"Then don't," she responded blandly. He turned the TV off and she turned to him impatiently. "What?" She asked and he cocked his head to one side. "That was your longest mission," he told her, "Some pretty intense work, Natasha told me." Winnie scratched her neck and shrugged.

"It was weird, it was a long time to go pretending to be a shadow," she answered him, "I think I prefer going undercover to just hiding all the time, it was pretty exhausting."

"Did you get what you were after?" He asked her and she nodded, then paused and shrugged. "Yes and no, we got our hands on the little stick," she told him, "You know, one of those information sticks that you put in the computers?" Steve nodded.

"A lot of it was corrupted and we had a hard time getting out of Moscow because we were attacked," she explained, watching with mild amusement as Steve tried to absorb the news that she was attacked with strained nonchalance. Winnie knew it was unlikely that he'd ever get used to her doing this stuff, fighting, being involved in this world that the girl he used to know would likely have just fainted from even hearing about it.

"By whom?" He asked her curiously, "Was it the same group holding the stick?" Winnie shook her head. "No, the group who we took it from was just a small splinter group of a terrorist organization that got lucky laying their hands on it in the first place," she told him, remembering Natasha's upset when it became apparent there was a third party involved in what should have been, all in all, a relatively simple mission.

"This is something else, someone else," she told him softly, Natasha's horrified face at the sight of the small force advancing on their position, flashing through her mind, "I'll have to speak with Fury I imagine, because this wasn't normal Steve, it was… I don't know, it was _something_, you know? Something important and bad all at once."

Steve shifted closer to her on the couch and put a hand on her knee, patting it briefly. "I didn't recognize them, though Natasha seemed pretty shook up over one of them," she added, a brief image of the man she had seen at a great distance, the one who looked like he was wearing a black suit with one silver sleeve on it, popping up in her head, "She called him the Winter Soldier."

Steve made a face. "What kind of name is that?" He asked, derision in his tone. Winnie smirked at him. "I don't know _Captain America_," she teased, "But he chased our car, on foot, for over a mile and almost had us – thank god Natasha drives like a demon." Her tone sobered at the end and she lay her head back on the couch.

"It's not fun seeing the Black Widow get frightened," she said aloud without meaning to. Steve grunted a wordless response. He decided to change the topic, apparently, because he commented easily, "So, given any more thought to what your name will be?"

She turned her head to him and glared a little. "Yes, my name is Winnie," she answered him smartly. He chuckled and rearranged himself on the couch. "I think Tony's idea was pretty good," he told her, "_Nomad_… it has a ring to it, you have to admit."

"I don't have to admit anything," she griped, sitting up straight and glancing at her cup on the coffee table, watching it move easily through the air into her hand. She took a sip. "I'm not a boat, or a car, or a painting," she added, "I don't need a name, or a title."

"The other Avengers have one," he told her. She made a face at him. "Don't pull that 'the other Avengers' crap with me Steve," she answered, "Besides, Thor doesn't, that's just his name."

"Yeah, but he's Thor, it has a ring to it all on its own," he responded. Winnie rolled her eyes again. "Are you say Winnie doesn't?" She shot back and he grinned at her.

"No," he said. A pillow shot off the armchair on the other side of the coffee table and smacked Steve in the side of the head. He shoved it back to the floor, putting his foot on top of it.

"That's just childish," he told her. She shrugged, happy she'd done it regardless, and moved her cup back to the table.

"You know," Steve said, breaking the comfortable silence, "It's sort of too late."

"What's too late?"

"They're already calling you Nomad. Around SHIELD. Even on the news once."

"Aw, Steve, no."

"I'm afraid so."

"I'm going to kill Tony, you just know that's his doing."

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Her training the next day turned out to be with Rumlow, which she wasn't happy about; the man irritated the hell out of her. She didn't know if it was because he constantly griped if he wasn't on a top level mission, or because she had heard him once refer to her as joke. Today, practicing hand to hand combat, she thought he was enjoying smacking her around more than he should have.

"I really prefer the days I can throw stuff at you," she panted, climbing up from the ground after having been tossed down there. He smirked at her nastily and swung for her, missing when she pulled back. "Where's the fun in that?" He asked her, hard mockery in his voice. He lunged to kick at her and she rolled out of the way, trying to roll up to her feet the way Natasha was so good at doing, but instead just managing to get to her knees.

"Besides, you always get pissed and end up cheating," he grunted, barrelling into her and sending her sprawling again. She came to a stop flat on her back and took in a breath, glancing over at him as he stood hunched over a few feet away, swaying back and forth on his feet in readiness. He gestured towards her, a sort of 'come at me' gesture and she climbed to her feet, feeling her back protest.

"I don't cheat," she responded, "I use what I have." She darted towards him, swerving around at the last second and ducking around the swing of his arms. "No one else has that, so it's cheating," he growled, lunging at her again. She ducked away, bringing her arm up to block his attacks, swiftly going through the motions her brain was frantically telling her to. She spun away again and this time it wasn't fast enough. Rumlow grabbed her shoulder and yanked her into his chest, his forearm clamping across her sternum and over her throat.

She clawed at his arm, feeling the unpleasant pressure of her airway being closed off slowly and tried to swing her body the way May taught her, to hit him in the stomach, or groin, and get his arms to slacken. He clamped a leg around hers and they fell to the ground heavily, with her completely pinned against his chest.

She hated this, every time she sparred with him, he ended up doing this and winning and it drove her crazy. She decided to do what he hated, and reached out, invisible fists grabbing the back of his shirt, and his belt and tearing him violently sideways. His arms loosened and she squirmed out, rolling away and coughing to get her breath back.

She made a face at him and hurled him across the room, hearing him curse loudly as he collided with a padded wall. "Christ!" He yelled, "I _told_ you that you always cheated!"

"It's called an advantage," she coughed out, getting to her feet achingly, rubbing absentmindedly at her throat, "Deal with it and learn to work with it, if we were on opposing sides you'd have to."

His glare slowly turned into a twisted smile, his features darkening in mild amusement. "I suppose we would," he told her, straightening his clothing. He pulled his gun and shot it at her without warning and she just barely managed to deflect the very real bullet.

She stood wide-eyed, jaw clenched, as she stared steadily at him. He looked dark and furious for a moment before his features changed, shifting into a hard and teasing smile. "Good work," he told her, tucking the weapon away.

"You could have hit me!" She yelled, storming over to him. He shrugged. "You'd just heal, no big deal, sometimes it's good to see how you react to the unexpected, right?"

She made a frustrated noise in her throat and strode past him, leaving the training area, and him standing in it, behind her. Natasha was waiting outside, leaned casually against the wall. "Fury wants to see you," she said immediately. Winnie glanced down at her SHIELD standard issue clothing, the tears in them from brawling with Rumlow.

"I need to shower," she responded and Natasha just grabbed her shoulder and steered her in the opposite direction of the locker rooms. "No, now," Natasha told her, her tone brooking no argument. Winnie sighed and moved out of Natasha's reach, walking down the hall, the red head at her side.

"Why?" She finally asked and Natasha looked over at her. "You know why," was the agent's response. "Is this because of Moscow?" Winnie asked, and Natasha nodded. "Because of that guy? The one with the weird name? The Winter –", Natasha's arm flew out and grabbed Winnie's arm roughly, cutting her off. Natasha said nothing, but the look on her face squelched Winnie's urge to talk more.

They walked in silence and Winnie's mind spun, wondering just what in the hell could possibly be going on now.

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"I heard that you didn't like working with Rumlow," Fury began, not facing her. He heard her squirm around behind him but refused to look at her. "I think he just doesn't like working with me," she responded.

"I also heard that you told Captain Rogers almost everything about your mission," he said in a stern voice. He was greeted with silence and finally turned from his wall of windows to look at her. She was standing at attention, hands clasped behind her back, hair fuzzy around her head in its dishevelled pony tail, her clothing rumpled and torn from her sparring session. The expression on her face let him know that this wasn't going to be easy.

"That's a breach in protocol," he told her. She blinked at him and opened her mouth to reply, but he held a hand up to stop her. "Agent Johnson, you know the rules, you could be locked up for this," he continued, "You're lucky it's me talking to you about this, because that very nearly happened."

At the mention of being locked up, he could hear the framed pictures on the walls of his office shaking hard and decided to dial it back a notch.

"For the time being, you are suspended from duty," he delivered. The pictures stopped shaking as her hands came unclasped, her mouth dropping open. "Sir, Director Fury," she began, her voice disbelieving, "Captain Rogers has Level 8 clearance, one higher than myself; can you tell me why I can't discuss things with him? Considering it could be valuable training for me to speak with a higher up who has more experience?"

He shook his head and levelled a hard look at her, desperately wanting her to grasp what he wasn't saying, so he wouldn't have to risk trying to tell her. "Maybe if you were a cop," he delivered harshly, "But we are dealing with things that go far beyond privacy here. SHIELD is not playing a small game."

She swallowed hard and looked around the room before settling her gaze back on him, her eyes sharp suddenly. He felt a surge of pride when he realized she was about to ask the right question. "Sir, Captain Rogers would never repeat the things I've told him," she said quickly, "So how is it that you know?" Her hands were loose at her sides and he watched her carefully.

"Do you honestly think that we can't hear every single thing you and Captain Rogers have ever said to each other inside your homes? That we don't hear you when you talk to Stark, or Banner? Do you think that you can hide anything from me, from SHIELD? How many times do I have to tell you that SHIELD is not playing a game here?" He delivered this statement as harshly and firmly as he thought he needed to and could see each word hitting home hard.

"You listen to us?" She asked incredulously. He nodded like it was no big deal. "Of course we do, and not just me, entire teams of people here do, and elsewhere," he told her. "But…" her voice trailed off for a moment before she shot furious eyes to him, "Why? Why are you spying on us? We're Avengers for god's sake, that was your idea, why don't you trust us? How can you not trust us?"

"Because you aren't like us, and therefore can't be trusted," he delivered this painful lie to her and watched her back stiffen. The picture on the wall directly to his left slammed to the floor with a force he knew would cause irreparable damage to both the tile and the artwork.

"You are dismissed until further notice Agent Johnson," Fury finally said, before she could get angrier. She glared at him. "I'm done with this," she told him angrily, "I'm done… when I think about…." She spun on her heel and marched to his door, pausing with her hand on the handle. "Don't ever give me that notice," she said firmly. He watched her walk through the door, and down the glass-lined hallway to the elevator and hoped that at the very least, she'd gotten his message: don't trust anyone or anything, not even the walls of your home or your friends.

He'd been notified of her conversation the other night with Steve simply because she spoke a red-list name, '_Winter Soldier'_, a title that he and all of SHIELD were constantly scouring the world for. If what he suspected was true, her saying that name, being recorded as even having that knowledge in a slight way, put her in immediate danger.

He strode back to the window and swallowed, looking out over the city. _At the very least_, he consoled himself, _you got her out of the building, away from immediate danger._ He knew something was coming, he had no idea what or when, but it would be bad and he felt better knowing that he had at least gotten one valuable individual out of harm's way.

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The mission to Iran had been cancelled and he was doing something else, which was all Steve would tell her. "You don't want to know more," he told her. She had shrugged and gone back to her room to sulk. She hadn't told Steve yet about her suspension, and what she was beginning to suspect was her resignation.

He stood at the door to her room and stared at her. "You ok?" He asked curiously and she looked up at him and shot him a fake smile. "Yes I'm fine, go, be careful, come home to me, the usual, ok?" She urged him, climbing to her feet to hug him tightly. He responded in kind and rested his face against her hair for a moment. "Just going to stay here?" He finally asked her, stepping away and holding her at arm's length.

"I might go visit Tony, I don't know," she responded. All he knew was that she was taking a vacation, saying that she was feeling a little tired after the strain of a month long mission. Steve understood, always eager to make sure that she was comfortable, happy, and not under mental pressure.

Steve smiled at her and bent down to place a quick peck on her cheek. "Be good," he said laughingly, ruffling her hair. Then he was gone and she was alone in her apartment. Her meeting with Fury rampaged through her head. She was still trying to make heads or tails of it.

It didn't make sense. None of it did. After the initial shock and anger at his words passed on, she began to think there was something wrong. The Fury she had come to know since she was woken up, did not think those kinds of things about her, about Steve, about Banner, Thor, or Tony. She had spent the entire afternoon in her apartment, pacing in the living room, afraid to go outside because she knew a wake of shaking or floating objects would just follow her around if she was in this much mental turmoil.

She did get the underlying message, loud and clear: there are ears everywhere and they are _always_ listening. But why did he need to tell her that? Why not simply go on listening? Why warn her, knowing that from now on she would go to great lengths to be secretive about what she did and didn't say to people?

Of course, for now it didn't matter. She wasn't going back to the Triskelion anytime soon.

Winnie flopped down on the couch and stared up at the ceiling, wondering what they hell to do with herself for the next couple days.

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As she hid in the bathroom stall at the Smithsonian, Winnie knew the correct answer to the question, "What do I do with my time off?" should definitively have been: do _not_ go to the biggest and most thorough Captain America exhibit in the world, wearing a disguise, and become traumatized by seeing your dead fiancé everywhere.

She was doing so well these days, it had been four years, as far as she was concerned, since she had lost Bucky. Sometimes she would cry if she really thought about him, and occasionally a truly vivid dream would leave an ache in her chest after she woke up, but this, melting down like this, was not something that she thought should still be happening.

Leaning against the stall wall, Winnie mopped tears from her face with toilet paper and tried to control her breathing. It wasn't the display that had a little Bucky biography and a big picture of him. It wasn't even his life size mannequin wearing his exact uniform as a Howling Commando, with a huge picture of his handsome face on the mural behind it (although the mannequin did give her heart a sad little clench), no, what did it was sitting in one of the darkened side rooms and watching a stupid interview he'd done at some point back then.

It was the first time she'd heard his voice since 1944 and it was like something huge dropping onto her chest, crushing her insides and stunning her into near paralysis. He was on screen in front of her, moving, talking, smiling, and _living._ His voice, a sound she suddenly realized she had missed more than she could properly put words to, came out from the speakers all around her. It poured into her head and she was visibly shaken, the mother and daughter sitting next to her noticing when she froze rigid and began to gasp in her breaths, their concerned voices washing over her like senseless irritations.

In the midst of a full-fledged panic attack, the benches in the room had ripped up from the floor and the previously concerned family was now terrified as they seemed to realize who and what she was, fleeing the room with shrill screams.

A small part of her mind seemed to realize what was happening and Winnie had fled the movie room, racing for the bathrooms and locking herself in. She did the only thing she could think of doing, and that was call Tony. She was only able to gasp out where she was, and that she was freaking out and he had muttered, "Stupid kid," before saying he'd be right there.

As she calmed down, she could hear people outside, likely security or cops, trying to talk to her, trying to ask if she was alright. With a twinge she realized this was likely one of those incidents that Fury was going to want to lock her up for. The press would be all over it, she knew: Winnie Johnson, or Nomad (_thanks a lot Tony)_ visiting the Smithsonian exhibit about her pal Cap and all their fallen friends, including her former fiancé, Bucky Barnes, and having a destructive nervous breakdown in a display about him.

Pepper, Tony's girlfriend, had once told her that it was incredibly romantic to hear about how much she missed Bucky, how it titillated people because it had all the elements of a dramatic love-story: true love that transcended the ages. Winnie had thought that was over dramatic, but she could sort of understand how people might think it was great. _Doesn't feel great._ Traitorously, part of her sometimes wished she could forget Bucky altogether, so she wouldn't feel things like this ever again.

"Win?" She heard a voice outside and sagged in relief against the stall door. "I'm here Tony," she replied. She unlocked the door and it was pulled open. Tony stood there, dressed in one of his flashy tailored suits, looking like the billionaire he was. His mouth twitched to one side when he saw her face and he put an arm around her, leading her out of her stall. That was when she saw the rest of the bathroom, doors bent in half, dryers torn from the wall, garbage pails laying on their sides all over the room, their trash laying like an explosion all around them.

Winnie groaned. Tony patted her back as he led her out, "Yeah," he said in response, "It's a mess. The good news is I think you're banned for life." She couldn't laugh, just looked miserably around her and felt like apologizing to every person she saw.

"How'd you get here so fast?" She asked him. He shot her a strange look. "Win, it's been like 8 hours since you called me," he replied. "Does that mean you left the tin man at home? I was hoping for a quick exit," she half-heartedly teased him.

"Oh ha-ha, the suit's made of metal," he said in a flat voice, leading her down a couple back corridors, clearly looking to avoid the main entrance to the building, which she supposed was probably crawling with the press now. "If I only had a brain," he mumbled, as they went down a staircase.

"That was the scarecrow," she told him, "You need a heart." He looked over at her in surprise, and then tapped the centre of his chest, a light metal clanking noise emitting from the movement. "Sure, why not," he replied easily. They were in some kind of loading bay at this point and a limo sat in the space there.

"Hey Winnie," a voice said and she looked up. "Oh, hey Happy," she responded flatly, "You're looking good." He nodded, a small smile on his face, as he opened a door for her. "I've got a good constitution," he replied. She could barely smile and slid inside, Tony following afterwards.

"Where to?" Tony asked her.

"Home, please," she responded wearily, leaning her head heavily on Tony's shoulder. "Sure thing, kid," he replied easily, and then he patted her arm briefly, but otherwise ignored her, pulling out a tablet and getting to work. Winnie fell asleep.

Back in her apartment, Tony had left her, saying he had to go, but that there was likely "dozens of her closest SHIELD friends" lurking around the building to make sure she didn't go out and destroy any other tourist attractions.

"Do you want me to call anyone for you?" He'd asked carefully, pausing in the entryway to the apartment, his dark eyes watching her. She shook her head. "No, you were it, but Steve should be home soon," she replied. Steve's secret mission would have had him returned to DC this afternoon sometime, and she was sure after debriefing that he'd come home.

When she was alone again, she showered for a very long time and then ate a huge meal and lay on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. Steve didn't come home and this bothered her. She couldn't pin point exactly why that was, but when she checked her phone for the hundredth time, she was fully irritated. Winnie moved into the bedroom when she began to get a crick in her neck and fell asleep.

A couple hours later, she thought she heard movement in the living room and sat up in bed, the covers pooling around her waist. "Steve?" She called and felt a shiver pass through her insides when there was no response. She climbed to her feet and walked to her bedroom door, pressing her ear against it, listening hard. There was definitely someone out there, and because they were trying so hard to be quiet, she knew there was zero chance it was Steve.

She pulled the door open slowly and crept into the hallway that led to the living room, pausing in the darkness and listening. She moved against the wall, slowly, glad she was in bare feet. When she reached the end of the hall, she peered cautiously around the corner and was greeted with an empty room.

She turned around in a circle in the space, deciding that perhaps she _was_ going crazy and had been making up the noises she heard. A sound behind her was too close for her to react to and a hand wrapped over her mouth quickly and tightly, ensuring she didn't make a noise. "Don't make a sound," a familiar voice whispered in her ear. She had just been reaching out, about to strangle the intruder or smash a radio over their head, when she realized it was Director Fury.

His hand reached past her and some music was clicked on with the remote he held in it. He released her and she turned to glare at him and stopped when she saw him. He looked hurt, badly, as if he'd been run over by a bus. _Or three_, she thought in a stunned way.

Leaning towards her, putting his mouth right up to her ear, he whispered again, so softly she had to strain to hear it, "I am not here, do not make a sound." He sagged heavily towards her and she barely managed to catch him, using his clothes to hold him up. Carefully, she dragged him to the armchair in the room, and he lay back, breathing heavily as if he'd run a marathon.

She swallowed and looked around the darkened room in a panic, wondering what the hell to do now. A noise at the door got Fury's attention and her own, and although he gestured vigorously at her to stay put, she instead reached under the coffee table, grabbing the gun they kept secured there, and made her way quickly past the kitchen, staying just around the corner from the entry to their apartment.

Her heart was thundering in her chest and she had to fight hard to control her mind, to keep herself from giving away her position by having things shake or lift from the ground. Whoever was near the door made to step past her, not seeing her in the kitchen, and she came up behind them and swiftly pressed the gun to their back.

Whoever it was spun on her and shoved her up against the wall before she could do anything but let out a harsh breath of air. The intruder's hand pinned her wrist to the wall and she was disarmed at the same moment she realized it was Steve.

"Oh Jesus," he murmured, letting her go and hugging her, "It's you, I'm sorry Win." She took a few shuddering breaths and tried to signal at him to shut up, putting a finger to her lips and gesturing to the living room. He must have misunderstood because he strode past her, shield at the ready, and she heard him say loudly, "I don't remember giving you a key."

_Dammit, Steve._

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She was in shock, again, for what felt like the hundredth time that day. Fury lay on the ground, unconscious and with a fading pulse, and Winnie couldn't do a damn thing to help him. Kate, or Agent 13, as she had revealed herself, was on the radio, furiously trying to hold off the bleeding from the multiple gunshots he had received. Winnie glanced over her shoulder. Gunshots that had come exploding through the walls of their apartment.

Steve, a very emotional and reckless Steve, has shot out through their window, into the window of the building directly across the way from theirs. They had all seen the slightest glint of the metal and movement and all Steve said to her was, "Stay," before he made the jump, leaving shattered wood, plaster, and glass all over their floor.

When the SHIELD medical team had arrived, Winnie had insisted on going with them, remembering the glowing words on Fury's phone "_SHIELD compromised_"; she couldn't leave him alone with these people because she didn't know if they could be trusted. She was fairly certain who could be though, and called Natasha, who was brusque and short once Winnie told her what happened.

"Call Hill, I'll be there in ten," Natasha had ordered her before hanging up without another word. Agent Hill was a little more polite, but an undercurrent of disbelief and horror was in the woman's voice when she informed Winnie she'd be on her way. She text messaged Steve, not wanting to call and distract him, or give away his position, if he was indeed still in pursuit of Fury's would-be killer.

When he arrived, he, Natasha, Agent Hill, and Winnie stood at the observation window that gave them a view of Fury's doctors fighting to save him. It wasn't enough. After he was pronounced, Winnie felt like her brain was all stirred up and could hardly think straight. She found a seat in the hallway, SHIELD strike units patrolling and posted everywhere, and drew her knees up, resting her chin on them. She stared at nothing, and thankfully didn't feel much beyond confusion and disbelief.

Minutes later, or possibly an hour, Winnie wasn't certain, Natasha came charging out from one of the rooms, Steve on her heels. "Why was Fury in your apartment?" She snapped at Steve, who glanced at Winnie for the briefest of moments before replying, "I don't know."

Rumlow approached, demanding Steve go back to headquarters, and Natasha turned to Winnie. "Why was he there?" She asked, her tone darkening. Winnie knew she couldn't lie well, so thought she would just play the part she played best: stunned, incompetent mess. She simply returned a blank, wide-eyed stare. Rumlow grunted from behind Steve.

"Don't expect much outta that one," he said in a hard voice, "She's already levelled half the Smithsonian today, don't think she's up for much talking." Steve and Natasha both turned intense stares on her and she simply blinked, before getting to her feet and walking away.

"Win! Wait!" Steve shouted at her, trotting after her. She didn't stop and he grabbed her arm to halt her. She turned to him, her chest heaving and he studied her eyes for a moment. "What happened?" He asked her, and she pulled her arm from his. Before she could answer, Rumlow barked from further down the hall, "Cap! Now!"

Steve turned with a growl and a dirty look for the man before spinning back to her. "Go home, lay low, I'll be there as soon as I can, got it?" He told her. She nodded and walked away quickly, trying not to jog as she reached the lower levels of the hospital. Once out on the street, she saw a cab parked at the curb and headed for it. Only pausing when her hand was on the handle of the back door, about to wrench it open.

_Is it normal for cabs to just be sitting at the entrance to a hospital? Especially a hospital surrounded and controlled by SHIELD during a security crisis, _she thought quickly, dropping her hand back. The driver rolled down the window and smiled at her.

"Hi sweetheart, need to go someplace?" He asked her kindly. She shook her head and managed to choke out, "No, thank you." She started walking, heading to the side walk. When she reached the street, she saw a bus approaching the nearby bus stop and immediately ran for it, climbing on board with something like relief. She glanced furtively over her shoulder, out the window and was relieved to see that no one had followed her.

_Ok, maybe you're overreacting_, she told herself. She heard some murmurs and looked around, realizing that everyone was giving her a wide berth. Glancing down at her t-shirt, she realized it was soaked in Fury's blood. Her hand reached for the cord and pulled it for the next stop, and she leapt off the bus and took off running through the streets. When her lungs felt ready to explode, Winnie paused for breath and grabbed her phone, pulling it out and turning it on, trying to get her bearings. She pulled up the GPS app and saw she wasn't actually that far from home. Keeping to back streets as much as possible, Winnie finally made it home and up to her apartment.

In typical SHIELD fashion, it had been swept clean. No blood, no glass, no ruin, the window Steve had leapt through was covered with cardboard, and even the wall had duct tape over the holes left from the gunshots. Winnie locked the door and all the windows in every room, pulling drapes and blinds closed as she went. For the second time that day, she took a shower and changed her clothes.

She threw on jeans, a grey long sleeved shirt and some socks and shoes before blow drying her hair and braiding it down the back of her head, the way she typically wore it now when she wasn't on a mission. She stood at her closet and stared in at her Nomad suit (_great, now even I'm doing it). _This wasn't the only one, she had several: one here, a couple at various SHIELD facilities, and even her original one in the storage locker she and Steve had obtained a year ago to move most of their 40s gear into, trying to banish old memories.

Winnie took a deep breath and moved out to the living room again, sitting on the couch and thinking that life was far less complicated when she was an Avenger on a huge Helicarrier.

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When Winnie woke up, it was because she thought Steve was home, so she naturally sat up quickly on the couch only to discover a five man strike team in her living room. "Hi," she said stupidly, not really sure what else to say. One of them moved quickly and pulled a gun, immediately firing a round at her. She threw her hand up and redirected what she thought was a bullet, into the neck of one of the other men, and at the same time yanked the weapon from the man's hand, feeling the metal of it slap against her palm satisfyingly when it was delivered to her.

She fired the gun again at the shooter, just as the man who'd taken the bullet intended for her fell to his knees. She realized then that they were tranquilizer darts, not bullets. The remaining three of them charged her in the small space and she rolled over the arm of the couch and away from them, gritting her teeth and sweeping her entire entertainment unit across the room, crushing two of the men into the wall with it.

The final man began firing his weapon and she ran for the hallway, hissing and crying out when something struck the back of her calf. She looked down and realized it was a real bullet, not a tranquilizer dart. This infuriated her and she darted into the kitchen. When he rounded the corner a moment later she shot a tranquillizer dart directly into his face and winced when she saw it had sank into his eye. He fell forward and she claimed his weapon, tucking it into the back of her jeans.

She raced for her bedroom and ripped open her closet, pausing to grab the belt from her uniform, wrapping it around her waist. She pulled out a hoodie and threw that on over top, stuffing her hair into it. She left her phone on her bed and grabbed her wallet. There was noise in the living room and she didn't wait to see what it was, instead pulling her window open and climbing down the fire escape as quickly as she could.

She ran down the street, her worried thoughts on Steve, and headed for the one place she thought she might be safe – a secret hiding place.

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Steve raced to the hospital and felt his heart stop when he realized the flash drive Fury had given him was no longer there. He was running on pure paranoid adrenaline at that point, so when Natasha appeared and displayed that she had it, he'd possibly overreacted, slamming her into a wall a little too forcefully.

He watched her speak, go on about the Winter Soldier, and he felt his heart stutter to a stop. "Winnie mentioned you saw him in Moscow, only a few days ago," he said in a voice filled with dawning horror.

"He's supposed to be a ghost story, but he was there in Moscow for a reason, he killed Fury for a reason," Natasha said, flipping the flash drive up into her hand, "The drive we got in Moscow was a pair to the one I took off the Lumerian Star. I would bet anything the information from both of those drives is contained within this one from Fury."

"We need to find out why he wants this information, what it is," Steve told her urgently, "SHIELD just tried to kill me."

"They're after me too," Natasha said, "I was going to go home to change, but saw my place was surrounded, so I came back, laid low; I knew you'd return for the drive." He nodded at her and then his stomach dropped out beneath him.

"Winnie; I left her at home," he said suddenly, gripping her shoulders, "She knows about the drive, she was with you, with us last night, she was there when Fury was killed and they know that."

"Calm down, you're lucky I'm here," Natasha told him, her face not betraying an emotion. With a peek outside the door, she quickly darted across the hall into an office and booted up the computer. Steve watched in fascination as she typed away for a solid minute, multiple screens popping up on the monitor as she did. Finally a video popped up and Steve gaped in horror at a view of his apartment, which was destroyed.

"No," he breathed, squeezing the desk hard enough to crack the veneer. "Hang on," Natasha murmured, rewinding the footage. She finally stopped at an image of Winnie sleeping on the couch, the room filling up with her would-be attackers around her. Steve felt his veins flooding with terror as she sat up and regarded them all rather calmly.

The next 90 seconds were a near blur of devastation, with Winnie exiting the kitchen with a limp and that was it. "She's pretty great," Natasha said under her breath. He grabbed her shoulder and shook her a little. "You saw that! She's injured, where would she go?" He cried.

"If she's smart, she'll go to the only place she could be sure she'd be safe," she told him, pushing him out of the office. They pulled up their hoods and made for a nearby stairwell, both of them knowing that her access to that particular corner of SHIELDs systems would draw agents to them in a manner of minutes. They ran through the underground where Natasha stole a random car.

"So you think she went to Stark's?" He asked her, and she glanced over at him briefly. "No, of course not," she replied, "They'll be waiting around everyone's homes, offices, beachfront condos, everything."

"Then where! Where would she be safe?" He cried. Natasha shook her head and pulled the car over. "I told her ok? I told her about one of my safe houses, one that even Fury didn't know about, completely off the record," she informed him, staring at him in a way that he knew she meant to be comforting, but that came across as almost mockingly calm.

"Why?" He shouted at her and she didn't flinch. "Look, that stupid kid was going to be locked up one day Steve, it was only a matter of time, SHIELD wouldn't have tolerated the risk to the public that letting her walk around was. Every meltdown she has, could potentially be fatal to people around her," she told him.

"If you think that, then why help her at all?" He asked her angrily.

"Because, I didn't think it was the right move," she told him, "Not after New York, not after SHIELD was prepared to nuke Manhattan – I couldn't trust them to always make the right call after that." He blinked at her, surprised, and said nothing. She started driving again and he stared at the window.

"So you told her to go there if she needed to hide," he said thoughtfully.

"No, I told her to go there if she needed to hide from SHIELD," Natasha corrected him. Steve bit his lip and clenched his fists as he mulled it over. "How long could she stay there without being seen," he asked her. She shrugged.

"I don't know, you guys have gigantic appetites," Natasha said, shooting him a smirk, "I could stay there for two weeks, she could last a few days I think."

"We need to find out what this ghost, this Winter Soldier is after," he told her after a moment's heavy pause, "I want her there, where it's safe, while we do that." Natasha nodded her agreement.

"Can we get a message to her?" He asked, and Natasha nodded again. "We will, the old fashioned way," she told him.

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When she arrived at the house, a quiet, tiny, little one-story on a small street off of a main thoroughfare, she just stood and stared at it. Inside it was musty, starkly decorated, but warm and clean. She found food in the cupboards and water in the taps, after she'd eaten and drank deeply directly from the tap, she felt a little calmer. She didn't dare to turn on any lights, even though it wasn't even close to nighttime.

Her leg was bothering her, so she went to the washroom and took off her shoes and stripped off the pants, eyeing the bullet hole and blood on the outside of them, there wasn't a huge amount of it, so she set the pants to the side to deal with. Winnie rinsed her calf under the bathtub faucet and was pleased to see the bullet wound didn't appear to contain a bullet and was well on its way to simply scabbing over and healing. She slapped a large band aid on top of it and ignored the dull throb that being slugged with a bullet had left in her leg.

She idly wondered where the bullet had gone as she made her way to the kitchen, preparing to scrub the jeans with baking powder. The ringing of a phone distracted her and she dropped the pants in the hallway as she flattened herself to the wall, heart pounding until she understood what she was hearing.

She moved carefully into the kitchen and saw the old phone hanging on the wall and tentatively picked it up, without say hello.

"You know who this is," a female voice said, "Please just hang out there until we come by to pick you up! We have so much chatting to catch up on, I can't wait. Neither can your brother! See you tomorrow afternoon!" The caller hung up and Winnie stared at the phone, listening to the dial tone.

She hung it up carefully and moved into the kitchen, determined to get the blood from her jeans, then hunt down a sewing kit hopefully and fix her pants up. There was likely to be clothing here, but she wasn't prepared to depress herself by trying to squeeze herself into any of Natasha's things; Winnie was small, but Natasha was tiny.

At the very least, she knew Steve was alive, as was Natasha, and they were coming to get her tomorrow afternoon. That was comfort enough to see her through until then.


	11. Chapter 11 - The Winter Soldier

_**Chapter 11 – The Winter Soldier**_

_**The Next Afternoon**_

"We have to send Sam in," Natasha told him, "We need to stay in the car, stay low and out of sight." Steve looked back at Natasha, who was pinning Agent Sitwell to the floor of Sam's car. He met her eyes and then looked over at Sam.

"Are you ok with that? We explained what she can do," he told Sam, who waved a hand at Steve as if to wave off his concerns.

"I'll be fine, don't worry about, I'm pretty charming," he said jokingly.

"She could choke you with your own t-shirt or impale you with the mailbox before you blinked, so move carefully," Natasha admonished him. Sam nodded at her in the rear-view mirror and swiftly pulled into the alley behind Natasha's safe house. Steve felt his veins were humming with the urgency to see her. They knew it was Hydra now, Hydra again. He and Natasha had discussed lying to Winnie, keeping it from her, but in the end he couldn't. They would deal with it however they needed to.

Zola's voice, coming hauntingly through the ancient computers in that bunker still crawled up and down his spine.

"Hydra is not returning; Hydra never left," the computer doctor told him, "And now you have two things it wants." Steve had wanted to smash the screen but Natasha had held him off, discovering that Hydra wanted the flash drive, but that Hydra wanted something else.

"You have had a piece of Hydra property for years now Captain," Zola sneered, "It is time to return the stolen item." He knew it clicked in his head before it did Natasha's, and his stomach had churned with bile.

"That kind of power never belonged with people like you, she has the potential for _so much more_," the German accent was just as thick as he remembered, and he found himself wishing Zola himself was here in physical form, so he could tear the man limb from limb, "She will become more than you could ever imagine, but we must develop it, discover her limitations."

Steve didn't start smashing things until Zola had said, with a chuckle, "After all, discovery requires experimentation."

"Never thought we'd have so much to worry about," Natasha said wryly, "Algorithms, old enemies, kidnapping."

"Don't forget imminent death at the hands of a master assassin," Steve muttered.

"Hail Hydra," Sitwell commented drily from the floor behind them and then squealed like a pig when Natasha did something to the man that Steve couldn't see. He didn't look back because he figured he didn't need to see.

"He's been in there for longer than 5 minutes now," Natasha spoke up, her tone growing worried.

"Should I go in?" Steve asked, and before she could respond, Sam and Winnie darted around the fence and Winnie hopped into the backseat. She stared down at Sitwell in shock for a moment.

"Sam tried to tell me some of this," she told them in a strange voice, "But he's obviously holding some stuff back aaand why is Agent Sitwell on the floor of the car?"

"Are you alright?" Steve asked her, twisting in his seat to grab one of her hands and squeeze it. She smiled at him and squeezed back.

"I'm fine, I'm ok," she assured him before looking down at Sitwell again. "Can we get him off the floor? This is making me uncomfortable," she asked and Natasha sighed like it was a huge task. She wrenched him up to sit behind Sam, taking the middle seat for herself. Winnie seemed to settle more comfortably behind Steve then and she kicked the back of his seat.

"Steve, tell me now," she demanded. So he did, reluctantly, but he told her everything. Nothing started to float upwards in the car, so he took that as a good sign, and as Sam merged onto the highway, he realized she was handling this.

Winnie sighed. "Of course it's Hydra," she muttered, gently knocking her head on the window, "I get frozen for 70 goddamn years, and those assholes followed me through time."

Sitwell grunted and she turned to look at him. "If you say Hail Hydra I'm going to choke you to death with your tie," Winnie promised him.

"I won't, calm down, but I do think you people need to be more worried," Sitwell told them.

"Do we look unworried to you?" Natasha asked him incredulously. Sitwell shook his head and replied in a tone that was tinged with high anxiety, "Pierce doesn't leave loose ends, you don't understand, he'll be coming for us now, to kill you three, to take her, and to kill me."

Steve turned in his seat to respond and all hell broke loose, very, very quickly. A silver arm slammed through the window, grabbed Sitwell, and flung him like a toy into oncoming traffic. Almost simultaneously, bullets began to hail down into the back seat and Winnie tossed Natasha bodily, by her shirt, into the front seat where she landed half on Steve and half on the dash. Steve twisted around and saw Winnie's hands reaching for the ceiling, her fingers curling in effort as she held back at least 7 bullets that had just penetrated the roof.

Automatically, Steve grabbed the emergency break and slammed the car to a stop and the body of a man, roughly Steve's size, flew off the roof, landing on the ground and sliding to a stop with the help of the same metal arm that had caught his shield so easily the night Fury died, and the same metal arm that had tossed Sitwell like it was nothing.

"Win-", Steve began to yell at her, hoping she could throw the man out of the way, but they were slammed from behind by another vehicle and he felt and heard her grunt of pain as she crashed into the back of his seat. The man leapt over the hood onto the roof again and this time the silver hand smashed through the windshield and tore up the steering wheel.

"Oh shit!" Sam cried, and then Winnie's brief shriek and another tremendous crashing sound from the back seat made them whirl around in time to see her legs and feet disappearing through the back window as the metal-armed man, the Winter Soldier he was certain, grabbed her and lunged back to the truck currently lodged into their back bumper.

Winnie was unceremoniously slammed into that truck's windshield as their attacker held her down with one arm and half his body, practically sitting on her chest, while he hung onto the roof of the truck with his metal arm, clearly meaning to ride out this crash.

"No!" Steve screamed before grabbing his shield, and then yanking Sam from his seat, right on top of Natasha, as they smashed out the car door and onto the pavement below.

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The experience was one she never wanted to have again, and although her first instinct was to lash out at the man – she knew with a certainty that she would likely be taken for the ride if she tossed him off the hood of the truck he had them pinned to. In horror, screaming for Steve, she watched as her three allies leapt from the destroyed car seconds before it started flopping and rolling down the highway. The truck slammed to a stop and the man jumped down, grabbing her arm and dragging her off the hood after him, heaving her at two men who immediately stepped from the back seat and handed him a gun.

The second the terrifying masked man turned around, intent on her friends, Winnie bolted, throwing both men backwards as hard as she could. She raced in between cars that were all slamming to a sudden stop around her, and heard the men behind her yelling in another language. She kept expecting to be shot, and then realized with a tingle that Hydra wanted her alive, and had likely delivered distinct instructions on that matter.

The masked man, the one Natasha and then Steve had called the Winter Soldier, was facing her, but only briefly, seeming to disregard her completely in favor of going after the other three. _He wants to kill them, it's easier to kill them now and hunt you down afterwards,_ her mind provided helpfully and she growled before picking up a piece of car that had fallen on the road and running back into the fray.

She heaved it as hard as she could, right as the masked man shot an explosive at Steve, sending him shooting off the overpass. Multiple crashes and smashes occurred below and she felt rigid with anger. She had mentally hurled the metal by aiming for the Soldier's head, but he spun at the last minute, caught it in his metal arm and heaved it back at her. It was coming in low and she saw he meant to hobble her. With a cry she redirected it and ran for where she had seen Natasha take cover, intending to help her.

Skidding to the ground and rolling into position next to the red-haired agent, Winnie smiled at her a little crazily, winded and mildly stunned.

"You are hard to kill," Natasha murmured. Gun fire began to chew up the ground around the car, and the vehicle itself was shaking with impact.

"We need to move," Natasha told her, her eyes dropping to the belt, "Do you have one of these in there still?" Natasha held her arm up to display the thick silver bracelet that Winnie knew would double as an anchor of sorts. She nodded, pulling it from her belt and snapping it on.

"Cover us, then jump over and shoot it up, and back, got it? It needs to hit _underneath_ the overpass," Natasha told her in a rush. Winnie nodded and they climbed to their feet. She felt like everything slowed down as she stretched all her senses to their limits. She held out a hand to stop the wave of bullets tearing towards them, trying to redirect them all into the concrete and saw the Winter Soldier lifting up the explosive launcher again.

Natasha was over the edge as the car he shot the explosive at exploded and then the burning car flew over after her. Winnie screamed and followed suit, turning and spinning to do the same as Natasha had. To her relief, it worked, although she landed hard on her feet and knew that she was going to pay for the damage that likely caused as the impact rippled up her legs. She unclasped the bracelet and raced after Natasha, wishing she had a gun. Natasha held her back, her eyes scanning the concrete at the edge of the bridge.

The woman darted away and began to shoot upwards. "I hit him!" She said as they raced for a nearby truck. "Now, you need to disappear Winnie," Natasha hissed at her as they took cover from the gunfire still raining down around them.

"And leave you guys? Are you crazy?" Winnie hissed back, glaring at the red head.

"We're easier targets altogether you idiot," Natasha shot back, "We run, down that way," Natasha pointed with her chin, "At the next cross street we split up, you head left I head right."

Winnie stared at her and clenched her teeth in frustration, preparing to say no anyway. Natasha's arm shot out and her surprisingly strong hand gripped the side of Winnie's face. "We'll meet where we're safe? Got it?" Natasha asked her urgently. Winnie understood now: split up, run like crazy, and meet at the secret safe house.

"Yes!" She cried in response when Natasha's hand squeezed her face. "Good," Natasha replied gruffly, "Now go! Go! Go!"

They ran, hard, and Winnie looked back only once to see the Soldier chasing them, his speed astounding. She bent into her very ordinary run and gave it all she had, hoping Natasha was doing the same.

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It was taking too long. She paced and paced inside the safe house, feeling useless and trapped. The rest of them should have been there by now, and she knew it. After her breathless arrival, she'd washed herself as best as she could over the sink and then drank as much water as she could hold. That was two hours ago and she was beside herself.

Finally, conceding that she could do nothing but wait, she threw herself into an armchair by the front door and tried not to twitch and flinch at the memories of the crashing and horror on the overpass.

The sun set, and she was still waiting, in the darkness, when she heard a noise at the back door and exploded to her feet, running to it, so relieved she felt weak. She'd locked the door earlier and her fingers and her mind fumbled at the locks before she pulled the door open, only realizing that was a stupid, reckless mistake when it was too late.

It wasn't Steve or the others. In the darkness outside the door, she caught the glint of a metal arm as it shot towards her and grabbed her around the neck and threw her back inside. She smashed into the wall on the other side of the house with a pained grunt, all her air leaving her lungs.

Through blurred eyes she watched the man walk resolutely inside, closing the door behind himself. He strode towards her and she clambered backwards, trying to throw her ability out into the room, but she was hurting and dizzy and it was ineffectual, only catching on parts of his clothes, gripping him momentarily, like clutching fingers that he seemed to shrug off as nothing more than mild annoyances as he moved towards her, purpose in every step.

He stepped into a sliver of light and her brain had a moment to determine his mask was gone before the light revealed his face, his brown hair draped along the side of it. Then her brain decided to screw around with her, because the man was Bucky.

She blinked hard several times and got to her feet, backing away. Each time she looked, he was still Bucky and she wondered if she had brain damage as she backed away, one hand on the wall to keep her balance as best as she could.

He looked furious, and she supposed that made sense in a sick way; she had ruined his carefully laid plans by running and hiding. Winnie grimaced and held a hand out towards him, pushing everything she had into using his clothes to stop him. It was exhausting, mentally wearying her almost to the point of making her want to throw up. She often found Steve difficult to move in much the same way and had to pause and wonder if she wasn't well and truly lost.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head, "You're not him! You're not!" She slammed her fist into her own jaw trying to clear this image of Bucky from her mind and he paused, angry confusion on his face. He wasn't changing, and now he was advancing on her again.

"Bucky?" She breathed, her tone conveying every bit of hurt, fear, and confusion she could muster. It made no sense, not a single part of her could add together who she was seeing and why.

His mouth twitched and he glared at her. "Who the hell is Bucky?" He growled in a displeased voice, like he was fed up with her calling him that, even though it was the first time. His voice triggered something in her, something in her gut and she was suddenly back in the Smithsonian again.

"I'm going crazy," she said aloud, her voice twisting at the end in pain, "I'm going _crazy!_" She shrieked the last part and he lunged for her, grabbing her shoulders and driving her to the wall, pinning her there with the metal arm which was whirring and clacking just beneath her chin. "Bucky?" She managed again, her fingers gripping the metal tightly, trying with utter futility to push it off.

"Shut up!" He yelled at her. She swallowed and glared at him, getting angry. She began to think this was a dream, a hallucination. _Maybe you're still laid out on the overpass, _she thought wildly, _you're not even here because this can't be real._

"Go away! _Go! Away!"_ She yelled in his face, her rage snaking out around them causing the ceiling to shake and plaster to begin raining down in dusty little pieces. "No," he responded in a completely flat voice, as if she were being incredibly unreasonable.

"You're dead! You've been dead for 70 years!" She yelled at him, kicking at him, trying to hit his groin. His body armor was tough, and her sore feet were mightily displeased, "_You_ _can't be here." _Her voice was a hiss by the end and his eyes, Bucky's eyes, narrowed and looked at her sharply, as if he was finally realizing she was as crazy as she'd tried to tell him she was.

"Time to go," he told her in dark voice, reaching his flesh and bone arm down to a pocket. He withdrew a syringe, something that brought her back to Hydra, all over again. She panicked, not believing that even a fake-dream-Bucky would do this to her. That's when it hit her, like a ton of bricks; this was no dream, nor a hallucination. This was real. _He _was real, somehow this was happening.

"No Bucky, please, don't give me back to them!" She cried, struggling and pulling at his clothing again. She narrowed her eyes at the syringe and focused so hard that she thought she would end up with a nosebleed, but it worked, it was ripped from his hands and thrown across the room, clattering on the tile somewhere in the kitchen.

His wide, angry, eyes darted to hers and he growled again, "You shouldn't have done that."

She pulled harder at his clothes, trying to reach his feet, realizing that all this not particularly well focused effort was resulting in her ability causing random damage around her. Each time there was a loud crack in the foundation of the house, or a floor board pried loose, his eyes would dart uneasily towards it, but his arm never lifted.

"Please Bucky, don't do this," she pleaded, one of her hands dropped from his arm and she moved it to his chest, pressing it there, astounded at how real and solid he felt, "You don't know, you don't know what they did to me, what they'll do again!"

He stepped away from her abruptly, shoving her into the wall with a little grunt. "I'm not him! Shut up!" He roared at her.

Her eyes roamed over his face, drinking in the familiar features twisted in unfamiliar ways. "You are," she replied, her tone dropping down low, "You are Bucky, you know who I am – it's Winnie, you knew me, you know me!" She stepped to the side, knowing that despite how badly she wanted to throw herself at him and hug him forever, this was not the same man she'd said goodbye to back in 1944. He followed her movement and narrowed his eyes.

"You're coming in - the mission is to bring you in," he said aloud in a hard tone, as if he was repeating a mantra to calm himself, "Do not kill, only retrieve; minimal damage." She licked her lips and decided that she needed to find the syringe before he did. She edged along the wall a little more slowly, but steadily.

"You know me Bucky, its Winnie, you know me, you know Steve," she urged him, "What have they done to you?" Her eyes dropped to his arm and it shook her to her core to see the fingers clench there. _Is it like Tony's suit? Is his arm under there?_ She thought frantically. He was shaking, obviously struggling with something and she wished to god she could get inside his head.

She reached slowly to her collar, pulling out the chain she always wore there, with the ring on it. "You gave me this," she said in a firm, quiet voice, "This was from you, we were engaged. You were gonna come home! We were going to get married at New Years!" His mouth twitched up to the side as if her words were foolish gibberish. She dropped the chain and saw his eyes follow the movement as it fell to hang outside her shirt.

He spun away from her then, and she had only a moment to realize he was going to the kitchen to get the syringe. He was hideously fast and she ran in the only direction she could to get away from him, which was into the bedroom. She tore in there and slammed the door, running for the window and focusing on it, trying to rip the steel bars off it and smash it open. It was hard to focus because she was trying to hold the bedroom door closed too.

It turned out to be a waste because he just bulldozed through it, metal arm first, sending a shower of obliterated door chunks everywhere. She turned from where she was standing on the bed and he leapt for her. She dove off the side of the bed and he followed.

He landed on her, pinning her hips to the ground and grasping her wrists tightly as he held her arms down with the metal arm. "Bucky!" She screamed at him, "No – ugh." Her yell was cut short when he jammed the syringe into her neck. The burning was there, the burning that only Hydra had given her.

She could feel her body trying to fight it off and she went slack. He released her arms and pulled the syringe from her neck, but remained on top of her lest she try and roll away. "You," she managed, as her tongue grew thick, "You said you loved me." She ground her teeth together, trying to fight the burning sedation. She met his eyes and saw something, she wasn't sure what, it didn't look like memory, but it was something that put a spark into his gaze.

"I loved you, too," she mumbled, before the last blink of her eyes took too long and she passed out.

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He didn't want to touch her anymore. He didn't want to look at her either, though he was quite unable to stop. First the man on the overpass, now the girl, the target, both calling him Bucky. Both have visceral reactions to simply seeing his face. He looked down at the girl, who lay slack on the floor, head turned to the side, and saw the ring she had brandished at him, as it if were definitive proof, hanging down across her neck and pooling on the floor.

He crouched down and reached for it, lifting it carefully. It was small and gold, with a tiny diamond in it; nothing special, nothing dangerous, just a piece of jewellery. In disgust he dropped it and listened to it clatter on the chain to the floor, falling next to her neck again. He got to his feet and pressed the signal at his belt again, just wanting to be done here. He sat on the bed, facing the prone target, and found that his headache was returning.

It had begun to pound as soon as the man on the overpass had said the name, "Bucky", in such utter disbelief, all the fight draining out of him. When he'd begun running, knowing that she would have gone to this place, a place that Hydra had managed to track down just minutes after she had left the first time, his mind began twisting. Each painful twist inside his head brought a flash, not quite an image, but almost one. Pieces, heartbeats of sounds, each of them cut and interrupted by the blinding bolts of pain that came from being programmed for a mission, flashed chaotically in his mind.

Then this girl, surprising him by answering the door, and her reaction, the same as the man on the overpass. Her slack-jawed disbelief, watching all of her conviction that he was the enemy drain from her face and body. When she said the name "Bucky" the pain in his head blossomed. There was an image there, it was pulsating just below the surfacing, something wanted him to see it, but at the same time the mission, his training, these things overpowered all else and the blinding flash was back, making him scream at her.

She didn't seem to think he was real, that baffled him; of course he was real, he was standing right there. She literally fought herself, as if trying to force out the recognition that wouldn't leave her eyes. When he had her pinned to the wall, he could feel the shreds of her ability picking at him, shaking and cracking the house around them. He'd been warned, warned to act fast, try and daze her if possible, not give her the chance to use it on him.

When she begged to be released, begged not to be handed over to Hydra, saying he didn't know what they would do to her, he got more pulses, painful ones in his brain, and had felt like his mind was splitting itself in two, because, of course he knew. He was told it was for a good reason, a noble cause, the best of intentions; his missions were changing the world. It didn't mean it wasn't painful, excruciating, pulling him apart and putting him back together without any memory of his before selves.

When he'd stuck her with the syringe, it was a relief, but he felt sickened as well, and he imagined it had something to do with her unceasing belief that he was this "Bucky" she thought she saw. The confusion and hurt, mingled with utter betrayal on her face when she informed him that he'd once said he loved her, brought something else to mind.

This time his brain didn't pulse, trying to share an image, this time he just had a surge of something that felt like it started tightly in his chest, constricting his throat, and burning behind his eyes. He wondered if she had somehow damaged him. The last things she spoke, saying she had once loved him too, made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. Now his whole mind was roiling, the pulsing so strong that the flashes and pain from programming weren't able to keep it all back.

He frantically pressed the button at his waist again, wondering where the extraction team could be, as he was hit with strange images, unwelcome and uninvited, simply invading his mind – forced images. _Are these memories?_ He thought, not entirely certain.

Two stuck out heavily: the man on the overpass, reaching for him, sorrow and fear on his face as he screamed the name "Bucky", and then the girl's face happy and smiling, close to his own, saying "I love you."

"You know I do," he muttered aloud, completely unaware he was doing so as he said the words.

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They approached the house carefully, Rumlow at the lead, noting the darkness within. He waved the men inside and signalled for them to keep sharp. They all knew to fire the tranqs at her as soon as they saw her if she wasn't already down. The Soldier had pressed the retrieval signal, so they hoped that meant he'd succeeded. Rumlow didn't want to take chances though, remembering the unpleasant sensation of being thrown against a wall by invisible hands much stronger than his own.

The house's kitchen and the living room were both empty, heavy damage to the ceiling, floor, and walls; Rumlow knew she had been here at least. The hall to the bedroom was dark, the bedroom door open, and the Soldier sat on the bed, staring blankly down at the girl's body on the floor.

"She's out," one of the other men on the team said. Rumlow carefully gave the Soldier a wide berth, eyeing the man with distaste and wariness. He was instructed to ensure that the Soldier hadn't remembered anything; Pierce knew that Rogers and the target would both remember him if they ever saw his face, the worry was what might happen if he were to remember them – he'd never encountered people from his original past before, so this time there was a unique risk.

"Hey, get up," Rumlow said shortly, jabbing the Soldier in the back with his rifle. Angry eyes turned up to his and Rumlow felt his finger fold over the trigger, ready to end the threat. "It's time to go," he told the Soldier, the whole room tense with anticipation around them.

"You are retrieval?" The Soldier finally asked in a hard, halting voice. Rumlow nodded. A flicker of relief crossed the man's face and he stood up. "I am retrieved," the Soldier said, repeating the code that Rumlow had been waiting for. All the rifles in the room lowered and they concentrated on retrieving the target.

They were swiftly out of the house, through the darkened yard, and into the waiting van in the alley. One of the men dumped the girl on the table and secured her arms, legs and head to it. The Soldier climbed in with four of the men, all of them taking various seats. Rumlow paused with his hand on the door and his eyes narrowed. The loose ends of the straps holding her down were beginning to lift and he saw that while she was still out, her brows had drawn together mildly.

"Dose her again," he immediately ordered the man on her left. The man looked at Rumlow sharply, as did the Soldier. Rumlow pointed, "Dose her again, she's burning through it." All eyes locked on the straining ends of the straps and a second syringe was produced.

"This won't kill her, right?" The nervous man holding the syringe asked, his eyes darting up to Rumlow. It was obvious he was worried about killing Pierce's prized target, especially after they had somehow managed to lose the other three they'd captured. Rumlow reached out and took the syringe, preparing to stick it in her leg.

"No, these freaks burn through this shit like it's nothing," he told them, the dislike in his voice plain to them all. There was a collective harsh intake of air when the Soldier's metal arm shot out and grabbed Rumlow's wrist, not crushing it, but the grip clearly letting him know that it was a distinct possibility.

"Give it to me," the Soldier said, and Rumlow was left with no choice but to open his palm and drop the syringe, displeased that they were going to have to kill him now as it appeared he was protecting her. The Soldier's regular hand shot out and grabbed the syringe as it was falling and he turned to her and stuck it into her neck instead. When he'd deposited all the sedative, he removed the syringe and threw it on the floor.

The Soldier's hard eyes turned to him, narrowing, angry, dangerous, and hateful. "It's better to do it there, it will deliver faster," the Soldier told him in low tones. Rumlow nodded and held the man's hard gaze, wondering at what, if anything, went on inside the creature's head.

"Enjoy the ride," he muttered to their asset, slamming the back of the van doors closed and running around to the front. As they drove off, he found he couldn't keep the littlest of smiles from his mouth, more of a smirk really. He thought it served them right; it was hilarious and ironic. Rumlow was no idiot, he knew who they each were, and what they were to each other once upon a time – nobody forgot that kind of story, especially not one that surrounded a national treasure and was repeated ad nauseum, through every possible medium.

Perhaps he had a cruel streak in him, he wasn't certain, he only knew it filled him with dark amusement and he really wished he could tell the Soldier, tell him who he was, make that freak remember who and what the girl was to him, before locking him down and wiping him clean again.

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"Oh good, you're awake," she heard a familiar voice saying, "I was beginning to think I wouldn't get to talk to you." Winnie blinked and tried to roll her aching head on her sore neck and her entire body flinched spastically when she realized that she couldn't.

Her hands clawed at the arms rests they were pinned to as she tried to buck her body out of the restraints holding her down. With her eyes open, she saw she was in a room, some kind of infirmary style room, strapped to a metal chair by her hands and feet and she couldn't move her head. It felt like cold, sharp fingers were pressing down on her skull from all directions and she desperately tried to lash out, to pull off whatever was there. Reaching for her ability felt like falling face first into a pool of cold water when you were expecting a warm bed.

She couldn't feel it, couldn't feel or reach it, and it was as unexpected as it was shocking. Winnie jerked hard, again, pulling so hard on the restraints that she thought her wrists might snap. "You really do need to calm down Miss Johnson," a civil voice told her. Her eyes darted up to the sound of the voice and she saw a man she'd only met once or twice, and seen in a couple of Fury's framed photos in his office.

"Pierce?" She asked, her voice coming out croaking and foggy. He smiled briefly at her from his position just to her right and slowly ambled to stand before her. "I know that you've been told what this is all about," he said to her, waving his hand lightly around the room, "And I want you to know that we don't intend to kill you." She felt shudders ripple through her when the coloring on the walls and floors became recognizable. She was in a SHIELD facility, somewhere, likely the Triskelion, and Hydra obviously had control of it.

Beyond her own peril, the implications of Hydra controlling the Triskelion made her sick. Her memory tickled and her eyes narrowed as she glared at the smug man. "Bucky," she said harshly, "What the _hell_ have you done to him?" Pierce smiled at her and strolled to one side of the room.

"He's no longer Sgt Barnes," Pierce told her, "He's no longer anybody; he's a Hydra asset, just like you will be." Winnie felt her lips pulling back from her teeth as she again tried to reach out, wanting nothing more than to strangle this man and tear the room apart. Pierce nodded at her, as if he could both sense and understand her inner turmoil. He reached a hand out and tapped whatever it was on her head, making the sharp points of it, which felt like they were jabbing her skull, jostle painfully.

"We worked on this for a very long time," he told her, obviously indicating some kind of contraption above her that she couldn't see, "Tony Stark locating you, and unthawing you, provided us with so much information. Information that we lacked for decades, seeing how you fell off the face of the earth."

He grabbed a stool and dragged it over to sit in front of her, leaning towards her as if he really wanted to level with her. "The SSR's losing you, Howard Stark's theft of you; those things would not have happened if there had been more Hydra operatives behind enemy lines."

She swallowed back the bile burning at the back of her throat and glared at him, willing herself to stay calm and think rationally. _Hysterics will not help you,_ she cautioned herself. "You see, with you, Hydra accomplished something marvelous, something unheard of. They took a perfectly normal human and turned you into something more," he seemed proud and stared at her fondly, "You were no super soldier, and really, there is only so much you can do with a person like that. Look at Captain Rogers, capable of so much _more_ than a normal man: he runs faster, he's stronger, he's certainly more durable – but beyond that he still must operate within the realm of human abilities, even if his are enhanced."

Pierce got up and walked over to the door, leaning against it and looking out the small observation window. "But you," he spoke seriously, "With you, something bigger, better, and far more special was achieved. You have gone beyond the realm of what a human can do – you have been moved a rung up the evolutionary ladder." Pierce swung around to face her, his face alight with interest.

"You can project your will, your desires, outside of yourself, outside of your physical boundaries, into a great unknown," he told her, his tone earnest, "SHIELD has held you back, _you've_ held yourself back, and we believe that only the very tip of the iceberg has been seen." He stepped closer, reaching out to rest a hand on her shoulder, although she tried in vain to cringe away from him.

"We can help you move mountains, take down targets larger than anything you've ever encountered, wipe out entire sections of the Earth with a thought, from anywhere," he smiled at her, encouragingly she thought, "You could destroy a mind, or recreate it, and obliterate armies while they slept in their bunks."

"I won't," she told him in a low, angry voice, "I won't do it." He smiled at her briefly, standing up straight and moving away. He walked to the door and pressed a button near it, making it slide open with a whoosh. "Oh you will, whether you want to or not," he told her, "That's no longer your decision to make." She could hear something, in the distance, and realized it was screaming; deep, gut wrenching, heart rending screams of pure torment.

"No," she whispered, understanding now why he'd opened the door, what he wanted her to hear. "It's like this every time, you know," he told her casually, "Clearing the mind, creating a blank slate that's ready to take orders is never easy, never without its own pain. It's very necessary though."

"I've got some birds to get in the air," he told her, "And I'm expecting a visit from your friends too." Winnie strained at the restraints, pulling at them as Bucky's screams went on and on in the distance. "Please!" She yelled at him, "Just stop it! Stop it! You're going to kill him!"

"No, Miss Johnson, we won't, and by the time it's over, it won't matter, he'll have forgotten," Pierce delivered frankly, "You'll stay here, we'll prep you once we've gotten things settled topside." He disappeared then and Winnie raged and thrashed in her restraints, the jabbing all around her skull twisting painfully. She began to wonder if the things poking her head weren't just jabbing at the outside of her skull, but perhaps went all the way in.

She began to jerk her head back and forth, risking the blinding pain, deciding to destroy her brain, so she would leave nothing behind for Hydra to play with. She could feel blood running down her face and down her neck, wetting her hair against her scalp, and the pain was intense, like a ring of fire surrounding her skull.

Eventually more Hydra agents came running in, holding her down and jabbing yet more sedation in to her, this time through an IV hooked to her arm. The burning fluid hit her blood hard and she was out more quickly than ever before.

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"What is the mission?"

"Kill Captain Steve Rogers, and all those who aid him. Take down any that ally with SHIELD. Maximum casualties."

"You have two hours, Soldier. We expect your success."

The Soldier sat up and strode across the room, reaching for the table with his gear laying on it, putting it on in hard, angry motions. He armed himself and left the room without another word. The facility was new, the instructions on navigating it new, standing out clear and shining amongst the duller thoughts of his mind. The hallways looked alike, and he understood he was below the ground. Several guards stood at attention outside a door, and he assessed them quickly, determining the ways they could be put down, despite the fact that they were Hydra; he was nothing if not thoroughly prepared in all situations.

Passing by the room they guarded, his gaze was drawn to the window in the door. He saw a person, a woman, strapped to a chair, similar to his own reprogramming chair. She wore a metal crown which appeared to be pierced directly into her skull, blood stained in livid washes down her pale skin from each entry point. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slack; clear indications she was unconscious.

He absorbed all of this in mere seconds, mentally understanding from the brief information given in his programming that she was an asset, not a target, not a threat – _Nomad._

He kept walking, barely a pause in his step, listening carefully to the voices that barked orders, directives, and instructions through his ear piece. Captain Rogers was out there. He reached up and adjusted the strap going over his shoulder. And now Captain Rogers was going to die.

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She came to again and began to realize how much she hated this constant in and out of consciousness. The piercing in her brain was gone, the pain very far away and numb. She realized that she was no longer restrained either and lifted her hands up to pat gingerly at her forehead.

"Dammit," she muttered quietly, noting that her hair had been cut off again. She ran her fingers around and over her skull, the tips of them seeking out her wounds and pausing sharply when they came across a lump that hadn't been there before, just above the base of her neck. She poked at it with increasing levels of worry until she heard the distinct whooshing of the door and turned to see a SHIELD doctor enter. _Correction, Hydra doctor now,_ she thought irritably.

"It's an implant," he told her, "The device you had on before took all the readings we needed to get the settings just right on the implant." He reached for her wrist and she jerked back, moving away until she was on the very furthest edge of the hard examination table. "I just wanted to check your vitals," he reassured her.

"Screw you," she told him, throwing out a Tony-phrase. He shook his head at her. "You seem fine at least," he said a little peevishly and she glared at him, cautiously trying to throw out her ability and again finding it locked behind some kind of barrier. She felt nearly bereft from its loss; she hated it most of the time, but now that it was gone, she felt nothing but a kind of emptiness.

"Oh, you won't be able to use it with the implant, at least not until we say so," he reassured her, as if she'd shown concern otherwise, "That's what the larger device was for; it gathered the information and the device is using that to control you, control it." She glared hard at him, not moving or speaking. He shrugged and took a step back towards the door.

"This is the least of your worries now," he told her, tapping his fingers against the door idly, "This is just the beginning – have you seen how a memory wipe works? How they reprogram you?" He took in a deep breath and shook his head. "If I were you, I'd be more concerned about that; it's fairly unpleasant to watch, I can only imagine how it feels," he informed her.

She opened her mouth to reply, to threaten him, when the very room seemed to shake, the walls waving for a moment, as the ceiling sprinkled dust. His eyes darted to the ceiling in concern and he turned to the door. Winnie dove off the bed, launching herself at his back. She griped an arm around his neck as she wrapped her legs around his torso, her weight smashing them both to the floor. He was grunting and squealing beneath the crushing grip she had around his throat and she tucked her other arm over the end of the arm wrapped over his neck, adding additional pressure.

She could feel him growing weaker and felt a wave of mild satisfaction and nausea when he passed out. She lay on her back, the man on top of her heavy, and she panted for breath. Winnie kicked her legs and released him, pulling herself out from underneath him and backing away, her chest heaving with adrenaline. She stared at him with huge eyes and wondered if she'd just killed him.

His chest finally moved minutely and she felt her own breath coming with more ease; she'd only knocked him out. Her legs were cold on the floor and she realized she was wearing some kind of hospital gown, but without the opening at the back. The gown came only to her knees and she was suddenly cold as she backed away from him and looked around the room wildly. There was nothing there to defend herself with. The only thing in the room other than her and the passed out doctor was the hard examination table, and it was bolted to the floor.

Winnie shook herself and scuttled along the floor, back to the doctor and pulled on his jacket, digging her fingers into his pockets, and then into his pants pockets. All she came up with was a pen, but she tucked it up her sleeve nonetheless and then stripped the lab coat off the doctor, putting it on. It dropped down to the middle of her calves and she felt better with more covering her.

Then she moved to the other side of the door, hoping it was out of sight of the small window in the door; she wanted to attack the next person through. She sat imagining the ways she might kill someone for nearly an hour and only moved when the doctor started to come to. She kicked him in the head until he passed out again, and thought she had likely killed him this time, when his chest did not rise and fall any longer.

The power flickered as the building continued to shudder and groan, far off crashing and explosive sounds making her wonder if the very building wasn't coming down around her.

When the lights went out, and it was full dark, so black she couldn't see a thing, she dove in the direction of the door, hoping that it would no longer be locked. She managed to shove the pen into the crack of the door, the space there a little wider than normal as the locks had in fact disengaged when the power went out, popping the door out a mere half inch. Winnie worked at the door, her movements becoming frantic when she heard screaming and shouting just down the hall.

"Come on, come _on_," she grunted, jamming her fingers through the slightly widened space. She pushed with all her might and the door slid open a little further. Winnie rammed her arms through and really began to gain some traction, finally able to force her head through, twisting to get her shoulders through afterwards. She fought and wriggled and was finally expelled out onto the floor of the hallway. She lay there panting for a minute, feeling the ache in her fingers and her arms from the concerted effort she'd put into escape.

She managed to get into a crouch when she heard loud sounds of crashing and crunching all around her and wondered if whatever damage the building was sustaining was finally bringing it all down on her. There were god-knew how many floors to this building, dozens of them kept secret and off limits to the majority of SHIELD, she could be halfway to the center of the earth for all she knew.

Scrambling to her feet, Winnie darted in a random, black as night, direction and immediately rebounded off of something, falling backwards with nothing to grab on to stop a hard fall to her back. Something grabbed her, halting her fall, and she had half a moment to realize it was a hand, another half a moment to realize it was a cold, hard hand, and then she opened her mouth to scream, but another hand slammed into her face, covering her mouth.

"Shut up," a familiar voice told her, a response she was now used to receiving from him. She lunged with her pen and tried to stab up, towards where she thought his shoulder might be and when the pen skidded off of metal plates and snapped in half, covering her hand in ink, she groaned against the hand sealed over her mouth.

"Stop it," his voice growled at her again. She used all her weight to shove him in the chest and gained nothing for her attempts except a wordless growl. The metal hand released her and she didn't even have time to grow hopeful before her arms were twisted behind her back, the metal hand returning and gripping her wrists together. "If you scream, more will come," he said flatly as he removed his hand from her mouth, "So shut up."

Panting, her heart thundering, Winnie said nothing, deciding that wherever he might be taking her would be better than being here; she would try and get away as soon as she could see again. He shoved her on ahead of himself, one hand gripping hers together uncomfortable, the other gripping her shoulder tightly.

He was absolutely silent as he wove them around and around. The blackness didn't lift and she began to wonder if they were going in circles. He released her and his presence behind her was gone suddenly. She stood in the blackness, wondering if he was leaving her here. There was a creak and then a door opened and she was blinded by the sun. Bucky (_no, not Bucky, the Winter Soldier) _stood in an open doorway, and turned to her, a glare on his face.

"Come," he told her and she looked over her shoulder for a moment, wondering what her chances were. He made a frustrated noise and grabbed her arm, dragging her outside after him. "Where are you taking me?" She asked him angrily, resisting each step of the way as he pulled her barefoot across a back parking lot, and then through some grass.

"Shut up," he told her, his voice almost a mumble, like he couldn't handle her voice. He seemed to know where he was going and that was when she really looked around. _They did it,_ she thought in stunned disbelief, looking around at the absolute mayhem around them, the utter ruin of huge chunks of the Triskelion, the obliterated mess of what had to have been the Helicarriers Steve had mentioned.

The Soldier was dragging her away from it all, the dragging part becoming truer as she looked back over her shoulder at the devastation; it was like New York all over again, although she had to admit the damage looked to be mostly inflicted upon the Triskelion and the water that surrounded it.

"What happened?" She asked without thinking. He didn't answer and she turned to glare at the back of his head. They reached the street and he dragged her across a sidewalk, up to where a horde of people were standing outside of their cars, gaping in fascination at the mess behind them. The Soldier wasted no time, marching up to the nearest vehicle and shoving the man standing in the driver's door halfway across the street.

"Hey!" The man yelled in outrage before the rest of his tirade died on his lips. His wide eyes and the eyes of everyone around them drank in the sight of the metal armed man who'd been on the news in a near constant loop of footage for the past 12 hours or so, dragging what looked like an escaped lunatic over to the car.

The Soldier shoved her into the car unceremoniously and she toppled over the centre console, landing face down in the passenger side foot well. He climbed in behind her and started the vehicle, driving it away with a squeal. Winnie's heart was pounding still and she struggled to sit up, trying to right herself and scraping the side of her face on the underside of the dash, gasping a bit at the bite of it.

She managed to get up and sat in the seat, her eyes going for the door handle. She glanced over at the Soldier and saw Bucky's face, Bucky's eyes, watching her warily. It made her feel undone inside. She wanted to run, knew she needed to run, but looking at him tore something inside of her chest with a pang of longing.

"Do you remember me?" She asked him carefully. He didn't move, only continuing to stare sharply out the front window. It was answer enough for her and she reached for the handle, trying to move quickly and throw the door open, deciding that whatever awaited her outside of the vehicle was likely less terrible than whatever Hydra hole in the ground he was bringing her to. His flesh arm shot out and grabbed the bag of her neck, pulling her back away from the open door with shocking speed. Her grip on the door ended up pulling it closed again and he pulled the car over violently.

He had her head pressed down half on his leg and half on the console, his flesh hand pinning her there as she tried to pull away. "Stop it," he told her again, his voice raising.

"Let me go!" She cried, whipping her face into his arm and biting him as hard as she could. He yelled in frustration and momentarily released the iron grip on her head. She jumped back, falling between the front seats into the back and wriggled backwards, kicking her legs to keep him from grabbing them.

She realized he was having trouble turning his frame and heavier metal arm in the confines of the driver's seat and took that as an opportunity to reach the door handle on the back passenger side. The door opened and she dumped out onto the curb and got to her feet. She looked around wildly to figure out which way to go. He exploded so hard out of the driver's side that the door shot across the seat and smashed through a bus stop. He looked at her, eyes wide and angry as his chest heaved in frustration.

She turned and ran, knowing it was stupid and he'd just catch her. Which he did; it was almost funny. She found herself laughing, the sound sad and slightly crazed. "Fine," she said in a throaty voice of defeat, "Fine, you win."

"Good," he responded, dragging her to her feet and storming over to another car. This time he pulled open the trunk and tossed her in it. She landed with a thump and glared up at him, hating the pull of her emotions: wretched anger that he won, that she was caught and being returned to Hydra, and also heartbreaking pangs of affection because this was the face she had missed, the person she longed to see breathing in front of her more than anything.

He slammed the trunk closed without ceremony and she heard him get in the car, the engine starting, and the vehicle rumbling as it moved. She took the opportunity to roll around and try and determine what was back here that she could use as a weapon. There wasn't anything very useful and as it grew darker in the car, night falling outdoors, she pulled the smelly blanket she'd found up and over her bare legs, curling up to keep warm. She'd found a small umbrella and had that tucked against her stomach, beneath the folds of the doctors jacket.

She laughed a little at herself, knowing it was completely asinine to think that using a dime store umbrella against the Winter Soldier was going to get her anywhere, but she figured she wouldn't make this easy; not for him and not for Hydra.

The car drove and drove, and despite her best efforts she warmed up in the smelly blanket nest and fell asleep.

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She was infuriating. Half a dozen times he nearly pulled over and left the car on the side of the road, with her in the trunk, to figure out her next moves alone. He shook his head a little as he drove, banishing the thought, knowing she was likely to be caught if he did that. He didn't know why he cared. He'd felt a tremendous flash of _something _watching Steve Rogers fall from the Helicarrier, enough so that he dove after the man and dragged him from the water. His hesitation then had been brief; taking Rogers with him was not an option.

The girl though, he knew exactly where she was and exactly what lay in store for her and for some unfathomable reason he didn't like it. She was fighting every step of the way and he found it simply… _infuriating._ A part of his mind told him that if he just told her that he was saving her, she might be more cooperative, but he hadn't yet. He had no new mission, and making decisions on his own was not only terrifying, but beyond difficult. He only knew they had to get away.

He had been driving for hours when he realized the car was nearly out of gas and he pulled down a grassy, hardly visible driveway, the tire tracks leading down it nearly invisible through the overgrown stuff. He climbed from the car when he reached a chain stretched across the drive and paused to unlatch it, driving the car through and then latching it again.

He hoped the overgrown road and the rusted chain indicated that this land was empty, and as the dirt road wove further and further from the main road, he wondered if it led anywhere at all. Finally the headlights illuminated something ahead, throwing a glare back towards the car. He realized it was windows and then the structure came into view.

It wasn't much, a fairly small, dark, wooden structure, a dim portion of his mind calling it a cabin, but he thought it would do. He turned the car off and pocketed the keys, immediately moving around the cabin, and its surrounding area, his eyes watchful and ears wide open for any noise. He was just greeted with the sounds of night in the trees. He checked out the interior of the cabin, breaking the locks on the door. Inside wasn't much, a one-room shack more or less with a fairly humble kitchen. One bed, one couch, a table with two chairs. A bookcase and a dresser. He'd spotted an outhouse around the back and that summed up the amenities for the location.

It was more than enough as far as he was concerned. Back at the car, he took a deep breath before opening the trunk, bracing himself for what he expected: the girl to fly out at him, and try to escape again. He cautiously and quietly lifted the lid and was greeted with her sleeping form. She was buried beneath a filthy blanket and he realized it must have been cold for her back there and felt a brief flash of something resembling remorse.

Without ceremony, he ripped the blanket off her and she woke up, trying to sit up immediately and smashing her head against the top of the trunk. She let out an irritated cry of pain and he reached in, grabbing her by the ankles and pulling her out before switching to her arm and yanking her entirely out of the car. A small cloth stick fell from inside her jacket and he stood there holding her arms and they both looked down at it.

"Take that," she whispered.

Her gaze darted up to his and he stared at her in a hard way, seeing the fugitive gleam in her eyes. "Don't try to run," he told her. She pressed her lips together and her eyebrows bunched up in anger. She looked around briefly and then back up at him, worry on her face now.

"Why are we here? Where is this?" She asked him and he started to drag her towards the cabin. She put in token resistance, but he thought she was far less combative and worried than before; her stress levels seemed far lower. When they got inside he shut door and stuffed a chair under the handle, knowing it was pretty terrible security, but the best he could hope for at this point.

He shoved her at the couch and she tripped on her way, landing heavily on it, a choking cloud of dust rising up around her. She coughed and he moved into the kitchen locating a lantern there and turning it on. He wasn't sure he would know how to until he was actually doing it, much like he'd felt about driving the car earlier. He carried it over to the table and shut the curtains on the four windows. He stood by the window furthest from the lantern and peered out past the curtain. Everything without was still and unmoving. His instincts said they were safe.

"This isn't Hydra," she said from behind him, her tone hesitant, almost as if she was afraid he would deny it. "No," he responded, eyes still locked outside. "Why not?" She asked in the same tone. He didn't turn to her, didn't feel like experiencing the strange twisting of almost-within-reach images and feelings that accompanied seeing her face.

"That's no longer my mission," he replied.

"What is?"

"I don't know," he said. He heard her moving around on the couch and glanced over his shoulder to see her climb to her feet. He was across the room in a flash, moving in front of her, grabbing her wrist and holding her firmly. He glared down at her and he saw her eyes widen slightly. With a light push he directed her to the couch and she sat again, arms gripping the cushions at her sides. He turned away again, moving towards the one remaining chair at the table.

"No…", she whispered mournfully, and he turned to her, saw her patting frantically at her chest, pulling open the front of her shirt and looking down it, "No!"

He said nothing, unable to imagine what had her so distressed now. "It's gone," she said quietly, looking to him with shining eyes. He blinked at her, not caring. She swallowed hard at whatever she saw on his face and then looked away, with effort, he thought.

There was silence for several minutes. "Do you remember taking me earlier? From that house? After the overpass?" She asked him. He looked at her, something prying at his mind, a prodding sensation that said that while he didn't remember, he should. "No," he replied. She chewed her lip.

"Do you know who you are?" She asked him carefully. He stared evenly at her. "Captain Rogers called me James Buchanan Barnes," he said, and watched her face crumple a little.

"That's right," she whispered, "That's your name." He said nothing and brought his metal arm up to rest on the table. Her eyes went to it briefly, before flickering back up to his face.

"Is your arm under there?" She asked, and he shook his head shortly. "No," he replied. Her face twisted in irritation suddenly and she was glaring at him again. "Is that all you can say?" She snapped, and he replied with, "No," again before he could stop himself. He hadn't been trying to be amusing, but her mouth turned up in a smile briefly, before it fell from her face.

"You don't remember me at all?" She asked sadly, looking down at her hands in her lap. "I told you no," he replied.

"Well, you should," she replied fiercely, her face angry all of a sudden, "You should remember me, Bucky." He looked away then, not certain how he should respond and deciding not to. "Did you pull me out of that place just to ignore me?" She asked him, the fierce tone in her voice still. He shook his head, aware that answering with "no" might make her angry enough to try something stupid.

"Then why?" She asked plaintively, "You say you don't remember me, and that you don't know me, but you came back for me! You got me out of there and brought me with you!" She bounced to her feet and walked towards him. "You say you're not bringing me to Hydra! You're hiding in the damn woods with me! Why go to all this trouble if I mean nothing to you?"

"You mean something," he responded in a flat voice, "I don't know what." She blinked at him in surprise, not expecting an answer like that. "What do you remember?" She asked curiously, still standing a few feet from him. "Steve," he said abruptly, not certain why, "The end of the line." He watched her eyes widen and she stumbled back a step, her hand going to her throat.

"You remember that?" She asked him, "You remember that day? Steve's mother?" He didn't remember any of that and simply glared at her. "No, I don't," he said, unable to explain himself, "Steve, Captain Rogers, he said it, and that was something." She nodded at him, moving back to the couch.

"It was something," she murmured, closing her eyes and rubbing her hands through her short hair. Her hands came to a frozen stop at the back of her neck and he rose swiftly to his feet when he saw the alarm on her face. She was pawing at the back of her neck and he reached for her, knocking her hands away and running his flesh hand over her neck. She shivered at his touch, and he almost pulled away when he felt the lump.

Grabbing her shoulder he hauled her over to the table and made her sit in the chair, gesturing at her neck over the table top. He touched it again and wondered if it was for tracking or something else. "It's to control me, control what I can do," she muttered, flinching when he pressed down on it lightly. He saw the small scar where they had inserted it and thought he might be able to cut it out of her, as long as it wasn't implanted into her brain stem or her spinal cord.

"I can remove it," he told her and she twitched away, eyes wide again. "But then you'd have to…" her voice trailed off as he stared steadily at her, wondering if she was going to point out the obvious; he was going to have to cut her open, and it was likely going to hurt. He pulled a knife out and she grimaced.

"That can't be clean," she told him, pushing his hand away roughly, "You're going to give me blood poisoning or worse." She climbed to her feet and eased past him, moving towards the kitchen and trying the taps, frowning when nothing came out. "Damn," she mumbled, before bending to the cupboards and pulling things out.

"Yes!" She cried, and he saw she had found a red box. First Aid. She carried it back to the table and lay it in the warm light from the lantern, digging through it. He saw the antiseptic wipes and she held a hand out to him impatiently.

"Give it," she said, waggling her fingers at the weapon in his hand. He raised an eyebrow at her quickly, a flicker of incredulous emotion. "No," he said reaching past her for the wipes she'd opened already, grabbing one and taking it to the blade.

"Again," she told him, handing him another, and he wiped the blade once more. She opened a third and began to rub her neck with it, all around and over the lump. "This is going to hurt, right?" She asked him and he nodded at her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and then lay her forehead on the table, exposing her neck.

He supposed this was a sign of trust, with her neck laid bare and vulnerable in front of him, and he wondered at how stupid she was. Almost as if she'd heard his thoughts she said, "If you're going to kill me, then it may as well be now rather than when I'm sleeping or tomorrow or the next day. It's better than Hydra." He stepped closer and bent over her neck, pausing to drag the lantern closer.

"I'm beginning now," he said to her evenly, thinking that warning was likely a good thing, "Don't move or you may be fatally cut."

"Comforting," she mumbled, one hand gripping the table next to her head, the other clutching at her own leg. He leaned closer and brought the knife to her skin, pressing lightly, the sharp blade slicing through it easily. It began to bleed instantly and she whimpered, her knuckles going white as she gripped the table harder.

He had to cut several times to expand the wound and by the time he was done, she was making a low-pitched constant whine as she tried not to move, obviously crying. He reached his flesh hand towards her and her hand on her leg flew to his leg, gripping the side of his pants in a white knuckled fist. He paused for a moment, wanting her to stop, but knowing this was not a time to argue. He bent forward and, using the knife blade and his hand, he was easily able to find the device and felt a mild shard of relief that it appeared to be unattached to anything. He removed it and put it on the table, before looking up to the first aid kit to clean her up.

"Don't waste too much time on it, just clean it and put a bandage on top," she told him wearily, through gritted teeth, "Please hurry, the sooner you're done, the sooner it will heal." He did as she asked, listening to her breath as it whistled in through gritted teeth while he cleaned the wound and bandaged it. She remained laying against the table, and he thought it wasn't from blood loss, more likely simply from pain.

This time he moved to the couch and sat down awkwardly on the edge of one of the cushions, the implant in his hand. "Is it tracking us?" She asked and he shrugged, crushing the small device in the fingertips of his metal arm. "Should we go?" She asked quietly and he glanced over at her, saw that she was sitting up again, hands braced against her knees.

"If they were coming then they would already have retrieved us," he told her blankly. "Thank you," she eventually said, her hand going lightly to the bandage. He said nothing and only watched as she focused on the table and the lantern slid away from her. He grit his teeth at the sight, tensing up a little, remembering that she was a Hydra asset, which basically translated to '_she's dangerous'._

"Nomad," he said softly, watching as her mental grip on the lantern suddenly weakened and she turned to him, her face contorted. "Even Hydra calls me that?" She asked in annoyance as he nodded, "I hate that name."

"You were an asset," he told her, "Not a target." She stared at him and for once he felt strange, something close to awkward.

"My name is not Nomad, I hate that, don't call me that," she told him. He nodded and they were silent for a moment. He felt tugging on his clothing and looked down to see certain parts of his armor twitching and moving on its own. He glared up at her and she put both hands in that air.

"I was just testing it!" She defended herself, "I can hardly move you anyways. You're just like Steve, I don't know if it's the way the serum changed the way your bodies are made, but you are each almost too heavy to move." He blinked at her and then watched her eyes go wide. She got to her feet and rushed to his side, gripping his metal arm in both of hers as she dropped down on the couch next to him.

"Steve, is he ok? He didn't… I mean you didn't…" she looked up at him pleadingly, "Did you kill Steve?" He read and understood the emotion and fear on her face and when he shook his head and muttered, "He is alive," he didn't miss the way her entire body sagged in utter relief.

"Oh thank god," she muttered, moving away from him on the couch and curling her legs up next to herself. He watched the movement and couldn't pull his eyes from her feet, something about it yet again making things in his mind pulse and move behind the heavy cover that held them back.

"What do I call you?" She asked him, snapping him from his stare. He looked up and realized she hadn't noticed; she was staring down at her hands. "I don't know," he told her. Her eyes flashed up to him.

"You_ are _Bucky, you know, it's almost impossible not to call you that," she told him softly, "Even if you don't remember, I do, and I assure you, you were very real, Bucky was very real, and it kills me that you look at me like a stranger when I've wanted to see you again ever since the day we said we goodbye."

"Call me Bucky, then," he told her, thinking maybe that would make her shut up, her pained voice making him feel strange. She smiled sadly. "Don't call me Nomad," she said again, looking away.

"Do you have a name?" He asked her, feeling like it was a stupid question. She looked back at him and her eyebrows drew together. "You don't even know my name?" She asked incredulously and he nodded. She made a noise in the back of her throat and looked away, turning her head into the couch and closing her eyes.

"Winnie, my name is Winnie, and you used to love me," she told him in an upset voice, before curling onto her side, facing her entire body away from him, signalling an end to the conversation.


	12. Chapter 12 - Unmade

_**Chapter 12 – Unmade**_

_**The Following Day**_

She knew he was watching her, not taking his eyes from her while she lay there. It made her sad because there was nothing to his stares beyond blank curiosity, as if she were a pile of puzzle pieces instead of a person. She slept, off and on throughout the night. The cabin grew cold and she had begun shivering, her hospital gown, stolen lab coat, and bare feet not nearly enough to keep her warm, even though she tried to curl up smaller underneath them.

"Here," Bucky spoke, and she turned to him, rolling her head on the arm of the couch to see him standing directly above her, holding out a blanket. She took it from him wordlessly and sat up on the couch, rolling herself in the flannel blanket, tucking the edges in all around herself. When she was buried in the slightly musty smelling thing she glanced up at him, still standing next to the couch, watching her.

"Thanks," she said quietly. He nodded and moved back to the chair at the table. She lay in her bundle of ever-warming blanket and watched him, watched as he sat and stared at nothing, his face occasionally twitching or mildly contorting, as if he was having to fight a few mental battles every now and then. It made her sense of sadness grow stronger and she felt a huge wave of longing for her apartment, for Steve, for her new, normal life. Guilt and more sadness came on the heels of that thought, because she thought that this was what she had wanted, all these years.

Bucky may have been mostly physically there, right in front of her, but he wasn't hers. This was not the man she loved. This was a damaged man, a dangerous and confused man, who still hadn't properly explained why he'd gone back for her. The lantern light shone on the long strands of his hair and she watched his fists, both metal and flesh, clench and unclench. This was not her Bucky. She had lost her Bucky, mourned her Bucky, and even now, missed her Bucky – but this was certainly not him.

Winnie felt a wave of overwhelming loss and sadness wash over her at the unfair futility of it all and she curled up face-first into the back of the couch, ducking her head inside the blankets and hiding herself within. She let herself cry, and in the privacy of this flannel fortress, she silently wept out her frustration and irritation with this new spectacularly shitty hand that life had dealt her.

She couldn't believe that a couple days ago she had nearly lost her mind in a museum at the sound of his voice, and now, here she was, five feet from him, and she was crying alone on a smelly couch.

"You're upset," she heard him speak, and froze, not moving her head out from under the blankets. "I'm fine," she told him, wiping her face off on the inside of the blanket. A moment later and the top half of the blanket was pulled from her and he was standing there, staring at her critically.

"You moved the couch," he told her flatly, gesturing behind them. She looked around and realized the couch had moved almost all the way to the other side of the room. Winnie resisted the urge to groan at the traitorous couch for giving her away. She met his eyes and then looked away quickly, feeling embarrassed, not wanting him to see her face, which she was certain was likely puffy eyed and red-nosed from her small fit of tears.

"I don't love you, you know; I don't know you," he told her frankly, his eyes appraising her face. She blinked at him and choked out a tiny, shocked laugh. "You don't just say that to people, you know," she said to him in response. He just shrugged and walked back to the table. She realized the sun was rising, the room well lit up with the soft morning rays. Winnie climbed to her feet and pushed the blanket back down to the couch, walking across the room to the dresser, deciding to see if she could find something to wear other than what she had on.

He followed her, curious, she thought, watching as she pulled open a drawer and exclaimed happily at the pair of jeans she found. They were beyond well-worn, faded nearly white in some areas, but she imagined that the owner of this place must be a tall, thin man, because the legs looked too long, the waist looked like it was only a little big for her, instead of gigantic. She pulled open another drawer and found some questionable looking socks, warm looking, but possibly also dirty, and she eventually shrugged, laying them on top of the jeans she was holding.

The last two items were a large stained grey t-shirt, and a faded brown sweater that looked warm and long. She walked back to the couch and dumped it all down and then paused, looking over her shoulder. Bucky stood by the dresser, watching her, the same blank curiosity as always on his face. She really didn't want him watching her change, the thought making her shiver at how horrible the notion was.

She thought back to their time together when they had been happy, how at times she really could think of little else except how scandalously wonderful it would be to undress for him, to watch him watching her. But this man, with the uncertain face and the penetrating stare; he was a stranger.

"Turn around," she told him, and he looked up from her pile of clothes, to her face, a slight quizzical expression on his face. "I said turn around," she repeated, making a spinning motion with her hands, "You can't watch me change, it isn't right." He nodded vaguely, with a slight shrug like it wasn't a big deal, but he turned around. She'd never changed so fast in all her life.

The tops fit alright, baggy but covering, however the pants were certainly not going to stay up on their own. She walked back to the dresser, ducking past him and felt him step away when her hip brushed against him. "Damn, there's no belt," she muttered, flicking through the contents of the drawer unhappily. She heard sliding noises behind her and turned to see Bucky pulling one of the straps from his shoulder. It looked like it had maybe been there to hold weapons in place, but those weapons were gone now.

He held the strap out to her and she took it from him. "Thanks," she said quietly, and he nodded and walked back to the couch, sitting down on top of her old clothing. She worked on looping the strap through the belt loops and then held both ends in front of her stomach, trying to figure out how to hook them together and tighten them. She jammed one end of the strap experimentally at the metal clasps on the other side and frowned in concentration when that wouldn't work. She then tried grabbing each end of the belt and trying to tie it together, but it wouldn't stay.

A shadow fell across her and she dropped the belt in shock when she realized Bucky had got up and moved over to her swiftly and silently; she nearly dropped her hold on the pants altogether. Without a word he brushed her hands out of the way, and looped the ends of the strap together, tightening them and fastening them expertly. His flesh hand brushed up against her stomach, the sliver of it that was showing where she'd hiked the sweater and shirt up a bit to get access to the belt, and instead of jerking away, he let his hand rest there for a moment, as if experimenting with the feel and temperature of her skin.

Winnie felt at odds. This man might not be Bucky, but when she looked up at his face and saw the wary, uncertain expression there, he somehow _was_ Bucky. The pull of him being these two things simultaneously was almost too much for her. He met her eyes and the hand dropped, but he didn't step away. His eyes roamed her face and hair and she felt strange, being examined like this. His hand reached for her head and she swallowed hard, trying to resist both the urge to lean away from him, and at the same time, lean into him.

He grabbed a strand of her short hair and held it between his thumb and his forefinger for a moment, before dropping it. "Your hair was long," he said uncertainly. She knew her eyes nearly bugged out with surprise at the statement and she nodded. "It used to be," she said, "Hydra keeps chopping it off." He met her gaze for a moment and then went back to the couch. She stayed where she was, not certain if she should push him for more.

"Do you… remember long hair?" She asked him softly and carefully. He didn't move for a long moment and then shrugged. "No," he said, "But your hair should be long."

"How do you know that?" She asked him, persisting more than her mind told her she should. He shook his head and then shrugged again. "I just do," he replied. She decided that was more than she had any right to hope for. "Well, you're right, it should be long," she told him. She made her way back to the chair, straightening the shirt before sitting down.

"What now?" She asked him and he shrugged. "Will Hydra hunt us?" She asked him and he didn't answer. Winnie shifted uncomfortably, aware that her stomach was beginning to burn with hunger. "I'm hungry," she told him, and he met her eyes. "Me too," he replied, as if it were up to her to solve the problem.

"Do you think we could go home?" She asked him, "To my home? Will they be waiting there? Will they be looking for us?" He turned a glare to her and he got to his feet. "They always retrieve their assets," he told her.

"That doesn't answer my question," she said adamantly, "Do you think they would go to my apartment, wait for us there? Or do you think that it might be ok since it's the last place people might expect us to go?"

"Your home," he said in response. "Yes, you've been there," she told him, "The night you… well, the night you killed Fury."

"Killed Fury?" He asked, looking at her questioningly. "Yes, you killed Nick Fury," she told him softly, "You don't remember that either, do you?" He shook his head. "I remember nothing," he answered, "Always nothing."

"You remembered my hair," she countered and he took an agitated step towards her. "I remember nothing," he told her again, "But your hair _should_ be long." She nodded at him, trying to calm him down.

"Let's do it," she said, "We can go home." She thought that at the very least, they might be able to gather some of her things there, maybe find a way to reach Steve, or get a hold of Tony. "They may be there," he told her, a hint of reluctance in his voice, she thought.

"You could handle it," she said and then glanced at the couch, throwing her ability towards it abruptly and sliding it quickly across the floor to where it had originally been sitting when they arrived.

"I could handle it," she said, smiling a little at him.

"I had problems with you," she said to him, "But I think I could do alright with the rest of them, if you were with me." He stared at her, his gaze moving from the couch to her face and back to the couch again.

"How do you do that?" He asked her and she shrugged. "I don't know, I just can, I just look at something and make it move, except for people," she explained awkwardly, "I can't move people." He nodded and turned for the door, striding towards it quickly and pulling the chair out from underneath the door knob.

"We can try," he said to her, and she smiled again, and followed him outside.

"I don't have to ride in the trunk again, do I?" She asked, and he stopped walking and turned to her, his expression questioning and confused. She smiled at him, trying to show him she was joking, and he narrowed his eyes at her. "I can try not to do that," he said, and his face twitched briefly, before he walked to the car and climbed inside.

She followed along slowly and wondered if that had been his version of a joke.

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

They switched cars twice more on the trip back and were lucky when they found money inside the second one. Bucky looked nearly faint with hunger and she knew she was feeling the same; their gigantic appetites were not meant to go this long without being sated. Now they were sitting in a fast food parking lot, glaring at each other as she held the crumpled bills in her hand.

"You can't go in," she told him, nodding at his arm, "There is no way to make you look like anything except what you are, you'll scare people and they'll remember you. That's bad."

"You can't go alone," he said to her again, the fifth time he had done so. "Bucky, I'll be fine, it's just across the parking lot, and you'll be able to see me the whole time, nothing's going to happen to me," she told him. He glared harder. "You're going to try to run," he said to her, "That's all you want to do."

She ran a hand through her hair and shook her head. "Maybe yesterday, but not anymore," she responded earnestly, so hungry that she would have said anything to make him believe her, "I want some food, and I know you do too, I promise you I'm coming back." He held her eyes for a long moment and then turned away.

"If you run, I will find you," he said, almost to reassure himself. "There you go, that's the spirit," she said in an irritated voice. She climbed from the car and his arm shot out and grabbed her wrist, holding tightly. She looked down at him, slightly alarmed and he held her gaze steadily. "Come back," he told her.

"I will, I told you that, you know I will," she said, pulling lightly on her arm. He looked away and let her go and she shut the door, making her way inside, feeling his eyes on her the entire time. Her time inside was uneventful; she only drew attention for her terribly ill-fitted clothes and the enormous amount of cheap food she bought. She made her way out, arms full of large sugary drinks and greasy sacks of food.

He opened the passenger door from the inside and she climbed in. They were absolutely silent for ten minutes straight as they both devoured the food she'd purchased. Afterwards they sat and said nothing, each of them relishing a full stomach. "Now we can go to your home," he told her, as if stopping for food had been their only obstacle. She yawned and stretched a little, nodding at him.

"Yes, we should," she replied, finding that his manner of speaking short, to the point sentences was rubbing off on her. They ended up parking the car several blocks away from her and Steve's apartment, and when they climbed from it, she pulled the sweater she was wearing off. She handed it to him.

"Put it on, cover your arm," she insisted. He stared at the sweater as if it were a large bug and she pushed it at him a little more insistently. "Bucky, do it, it's the only option," she said again. He finally took it and managed to put it on, the sweater looking ridiculous and fitting terribly. She lead them through quiet side streets, alleyways, and the occasional back yard on their way to her apartment, trying to stay away from cars, people, and generally easier to watch places.

She led them in through the fire escape and they each climbed through the window into her room. When they were both standing next to her bed, she put a hand back to him, placing it lightly on his chest, urging him to stay still. She closed her eyes and listened hard, realizing that she was both praying they were alone, and dying to hear Steve.

It seemed that one of her irrational desires would be granted as the apartment stood empty and still around them. A hand grasped hers, pushing her palm from Bucky's chest, and she realized that he was moving around her, planning to head through her bedroom door, out into the other room. "Stay," he said in a barely audible voice. She glared at him and he put a firm hand on her shoulder, gripping her a little more tightly than was likely warranted.

"Stay," he said again, as if repetition might make it more likely to happen. Winnie put her hand on top of his and tried to pry his hand off and he resisted for a moment before releasing her. "I'll stay behind you, instead, alright?" She asked him, hoping he wouldn't argue. His eyes narrowed, clearly not enjoying the concept of compromise on any level, and he finally nodded curtly, before turning towards her bedroom door. His posture was tighter than before, and she knew it wasn't all tension about a possible attack. His tightened jaw indicated that he was genuinely irritated with her inability to follow his curt orders.

The apartment stood empty and partially darkened around them. They moved from room to room, hallway to hallway, greeted with tense emptiness in each place they searched. When they finally stopped in the living room, Winnie and Bucky stood staring at the entertainment unit that she had sent smashing into the wall across from it, crushing some of the intruders that had been after her at the time. The bodies were gone, but the unit was still partially crushed up against the wall. She watched Bucky look from the destruction of the wall, to her, and then back to the wall where it had obviously once stood, before his unsettling gaze landed permanently on her.

"What?" She snapped after he'd been appraising her for a few solemn seconds; she didn't enjoy the intense blankness of it. "This was you?" He asked her in a flat voice. She nodded and turned from him, intending to venture back into her bedroom. She heard his metal arm moving seconds before she felt it snatch at her upper arm and pull her back in a quick jerk to face him again.

"Hey!" She cried in irritation, "Watch it!" He immediately released her, his expression flipping briefly to something that may have been shame, before sliding back into his usual blank one. "Where are you going?" He asked her quietly and she took a deep breath, trying to bury her urge to be genuinely irritated with him. She was irritated with what she saw as bad behaviour on Bucky's part, forgetting that, despite her calling him so, this was _not_ Bucky; this was a strange, likely dangerous person wearing a Bucky-mask.

Winnie took a calming breath before replying, "I was going to get a change of clothes for myself." He nodded minutely and she cast a quick, critical eye down his body before meeting his eyes again. "A change of clothes for you too, I guess," she continued, indicating the ill-fitted sweater he had on to disguise his arm. She found herself staring back at him for a few long moments, looking away abruptly, a slight flush burning her ears when she realized she'd been doing so.

"I could use a shower too," she added, "Would you want one?" He just looked away and walked towards the big window on the far way. "Go," he told her, his flesh hand waving in the direction of her bedroom and the bathroom. Winnie glared at his back for a moment before shaking her head and heading towards her bathroom. She tore her filthy stolen clothes off and climbed directly into the shower, thrusting her face under the warm spray and trying for a moment to forget the past few, bewildering, days.

She wondered where Steve was, if he was safe with Natasha somewhere. She lathered up her hair and grabbed her bar of soap and began to scrub at her skin until it was pink, wanting to wash off the feeling of being locked up by Hydra, of feeling helpless and alone. After she was clean, she stood under the water, allowing herself to shed a few disappointed and fearful tears over the entire tangled situation she currently found herself in, before she reluctantly turned off the shower and stepped out, wrapping herself in a towel, and grabbing a second one and rubbing at her hair with it. She brushed her teeth and dug around in the drawers below the counter until she found a small pair of scissors and leaned towards the mirror, snipping at her destroyed hair, evening it out until it lay flat and somewhat straight against her head.

Winnie glared at her reflection, hating the shortened hair, which to her was a stark reminder of everything that Hydra had taken from her. She sighed heavily and cleaned up the bits of dark hair that littered the sink. Straightening her spine, she reached for the door handle, preparing to go get dressed and face what was left of the day with her strange new companion.

She leapt about ten feet in the air, letting out a strangled screech when she opened the door and walked directly into said strange companion. "What are you doing?!" She cried, jumping back in alarm, one hand flying to the neckline of the towel wrapped around herself, the other hand flying out towards him, slapping him in the shoulder and using her ability to grab at his clothing and wrench him backwards a harsh step. He didn't look particularly perturbed by her reaction, but he was clearly unhappy with her regardless.

"What took so long?" He asked her suspiciously. She gaped at him, her heart thumping away as she tried to catch her breath. "I was showering! What were you doing lurking out here like that?" She shot back. He didn't reply, just stared at her as she stepped out of the bathroom and pushed down the hall past him. Without thinking, she cast out with her ability and opened her bedroom door and Steve's at the same time.

"Go shower and when you're done, go in there," she gestured at Steve's open room, "And get yourself something to wear. You look like you'll fit Steve's stuff." He didn't nod or make a move for the bathroom so she just walked into her bedroom and closed the door. She leaned against the closed door and paused to gather her wits, listening as the bathroom door shut outside. Winnie pushed off from the door and got dressed, in her favorite pair of grey sweatpants and an Iron Man t-shirt that Tony had given her as a joke, but that she ended up wearing frequently because it was comfortable (and a gift from a real friend).

After pulling on a pair of thick socks and clean sneakers, Winnie walked back out into the hallway, listening as the shower ran behind the closed bathroom door. She glanced into Steve's bedroom and contemplated picking out clothes for Bucky, but decided that was far too domestic a task. She walked back into the living room and looked around at the wreck and ruin of her home, wondering if she should put some effort into putting the place to rights.

The bathroom door opened behind her and she resisted every urge that suddenly ripped through her to turn around and see if he'd come out in his clothes or in a towel. _This is not Bucky, _she reminded herself sternly, _it doesn't matter what he's wearing or not wearing._ She had a brief flash of what she might have done, if _her_ Bucky was making his way across the hall from the bathroom to Steve's room, not this stone-faced robot. The thought brought a tiny smile to her face before she realized how sad it was that she was fantasizing about something so completely impossible. She needed someone to give her a talking-to, straighten this out for her, help her mind clear up the tangled mess within and make sense of the situation.

_Steve. Steve. Steve_. Suddenly she needed to see him, needed to speak to him, and needed him to give her a hug, a comforting smile on his familiar face. He was her family, her normal, the one person in the world who made perfect sense to her right now; she needed to contact him. She spun away from the wreck of the living room and charged into the kitchen, making her way to the counter and scrambling up the side near the sink. Slinking carefully along the edge of it, she climbed up onto the fridge, on her hands and knees, the top of her head brushing the ceiling.

With a clear view of the top of the cupboards, she counted the tiles on the wall until she was seven in and two down from the top. Leaning heavily on the top of the cupboards, she stretched to the tile and hooked the edge of her nails on the seam and wiggled it off. In a small nook behind lay a small cell phone. Tony called it an ancient cell, "nearly a damn brick", but had pressed it into her hands, telling her it was untraceable. Only for emergencies. She knew he classified emergency as SHIELD coming to lock her up in a lab, something he had reassured her he would never let happen to her, hence the secure line to contact him.

She needed to talk to him, she was certain he of all people would know where Steve and Natasha were hiding. She held the phone tightly in one hand and began to back off the fridge, her feet dangling down in search of the counter top. She kicked spastically when a hand closed around her ankle and Bucky spoke from below and behind her, "What are you doing?"

She glared at him over her shoulder, furrowing her brows at the look of stark confusion on his face. "I know this looks weird," she replied, pulling her foot against the grip of his hand, "But please let go and let me climb down before I fall and break my neck." The hand released her foot and she breathed out a little, lowering both feet to the counter. Quick as a whip, Bucky snaked an arm around her waist and yanked her off the counter, setting her on the floor quickly. She jerked away from him, wrenching from his grip and turning a wide eyed look to him.

"Don't do that," she told him shakily, her eyes locking on his metal arm warily. He followed her gaze to the arm and then looked back up at her. "To keep you from breaking your neck," he told her flatly. She blinked at him, unsure how to respond. "Why would that matter to you?" She blurted out.

Bucky shrugged and reached for her, snatching the phone from her hand. "What is this?" He asked her, stepping away when she lunged for the phone. She made an impatient face and held her hand out to him, waggling her fingers. "Give it back," she said shortly. He met her glare and she narrowed her eyes further, pulling the phone from his hand with her mind, opening her hand to catch it as it flew back to her. She smiled a little at the look on his face and stepped back quickly when he reached for her.

"No!" She said, holding up a hand to keep him at bay, "It's just a phone! I'm using it to call for help!" He stopped mid-step and dropped his hand. "Who?" He questioned her sharply. "A friend, someone to help," she answered slowly, raising her eyebrows at him, hoping he didn't think she was lying. She knew he could crush the fragile device in either hand if given the chance, and that he was severely suspicious of every single thing she did, so she wanted him to trust her, just a little bit.

"Why?" He asked immediately and she struggled to resist the urge to roll her eyes at him. "Stop asking questions," she responded in a slightly annoyed tone. His expression flattened and he looked away from her. She realized he was irritated with her. "Tell me what you're doing instead of hiding it," he replied quietly.

"I have a friend who could help us find Steve, hopefully, at the very least help us stay safe," she told him. He looked like he was gritting his teeth and he moved suddenly, shoving past her and storming back out into the living room. She hung back for a moment before moving down the hall after him. She paused at the entry to the living room and watched as he paced back and forth; angry, stiff movements, his face tight with upset, his hands clenched at his sides.

"You're upset," she said, not moving from the entryway. He glanced up at her briefly, and she saw a flash of something in his eyes, something like panic or worry. "Call for you," he said in response, not pausing his strides, "Not for me, I'll leave." She took a startled step into the living room and reached a hand out towards him, dropping it quickly when he stopped and turned to her.

"Don't," she told him quietly, "Don't leave."

"I. Don't. Remember. You," he answered harshly, each word bitten off in a bitter tone. She pressed her lips together and crossed her arms over her chest, looking away. "Then why are you here?" She asked him angrily, "Why bother coming back for me? Why do anything you've done since then?"

"_I don't know!"_ He yelled, making her take a step back from him. She was breathing heavier, growing angrier and more confused, two emotions that didn't play well together in the best of times. She could hear things rattling around them as her grasp on her emotions grew looser. Vaguely, she was aware that he was looking around, caution growing on his face.

"Calm down," he ordered her. She took a step towards him. "Do realize how hard this is for me? Having you here? Seeing you? Hearing you?" She cried, closing the distance between them rapidly. She stood right before him, chest heaving with her upset. She backhanded him on the chest and he stared down at her, not moving, his expression completely devoid of feeling.

"You're _right_ here and it doesn't make a difference!" She said, her voice breaking with emotion, "I have spent years mourning you, mourning our life and what should have happened, and now you're here with me and it's _nothing_, you may as well be dead." Pictures came crashing down from the walls around them and she heard a loud snap as the window cracked right down the middle.

"Why can't you remember me? Why? I'm _right _here, Bucky, and you look at me like I'm a bug in a jar! How can you not remember me?" She yelled, her face crumpling as she started to cry. The ground was rumbling beneath them and she knew in a distant corner of her mind that she was close to losing it completely. He reached a hand out to her and gripped her shoulder, squeezing lightly.

"Calm down," he said again, this time his voice slightly more gentle than it had been before. It broke her. She fell against him, pressing her face against the soft cotton of the shirt he'd taken from Steve's room. "I can't take this," she spoke into his chest, no part of herself touching him, other than her face. He made no move to touch or to comfort her, but he didn't push her away, he just stood stock still, breathing evenly, and arms hanging at his sides while she got the front of his shirt damp with tears. The room settled around them as all the energy went out of her in a rush.

Winnie leaned against the man she loved but didn't know anymore, breathing in the familiar scent of Steve's bedroom from his shirt, and she suddenly stepped back, confused and ashamed. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, turning away from him. She took a deep breath and walked back down the hall towards her room.

"I'm going to lay down, leave if you want," she continued in a quiet, defeated voice. He didn't say anything and Winnie felt deflated. She moved straight down the hallway, into her bedroom, closing the door softly behind herself. She sat on her bed and stared at the phone in her hands before pressing the speed dial for the one phone number in it.

Nothing was right anymore, and even the sound of the phone ringing and bringing her closer to her friends wasn't helping her at all. Winnie let out a tired, muffled sob of despair when the phone went to a voicemail, instead of being answered by Tony. "Tony," she managed, when it was time to talk, "Please call me back, I need your help, I'm at home." She breathed heavily, trying not to sob into the phone, but being quite unsuccessful at the attempt.

"Please Tony, I need you and I want Steve, call me back."

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He didn't feel right. Her reaction startled him, and in some tightly locked away portion of his head, he could feel the roiling of upset straining against the ever present wall that divided his mind. He didn't want her to be upset. He also didn't want her to be hurt, or to run away, or to end up with Hydra. Beyond those things though, he didn't know why he'd stayed, why she mattered.

He had to assume it had something to do with the memories he didn't have any longer, she certainly responded to him in a way that didn't seem faked; the two of them clearly meant something to each other. However, he couldn't help her because he felt nothing for her, nothing for anything.

He heard her talking to someone, presumably on the phone, asking them to call her back and wondered how much longer he could stay before he had to run, had to leave her to whatever lay ahead for her. He moved slowly around the destroyed room, stepping over mangled pieces of furniture. He began to pick up things that had fallen from shelves and the wall. Her ability still stunned him, and her seeming lack of control of it when she grew agitated or upset seemed dangerous; but he was transfixed by it none the less. It was just such an impossible thing for a person to do, watching her do it left him momentarily thoughtless in fascination.

He looked at the gathered pile of pictures in his hands and added one final item to the stack, a photo small album that lay on the floor near where the large shelving unit had obviously once sat. He walked towards the only seating space in the room, the armchair in the corner, and he sat down. The first framed photo that he held grabbed his attention immediately. He knew all three people in the photo, all three children actually.

The first was obviously the girl, perhaps a young teenager at the time of the photograph, followed by a very small boy who he thought was Captain Rogers, but could hardly believe the stature of the boy could grow into the man he'd found a formidable opponent. The last boy transfixed him. He'd seen a mirror, he knew it was himself, a younger version of himself. He just couldn't believe it, couldn't tie this image of an obvious past to the blankness in his mind. All three children stood hugged together, arms slung around shoulders casually, happy grins on their young, open faces.

He placed the framed photo on the ground and looked at the next one; this one obviously a newer picture than the last had been, taken with a modern camera. It was the girl (_Winnie, she said her name is Winnie)_ and Captain Rogers at some kind of amusement park, posing with someone dressed as a large rodent in red pants. The sun was shining brightly onto their bare heads, glinting off her hair with a faint red shimmer. He didn't know why it bothered him that Rogers had both arms wrapped around her shoulders, hugging her to him exuberantly. It was almost impossible to understand the level of happiness stretched across their faces, their easy familiarity with each other.

The picture went to the floor with the other. The next in the stack was Rogers as a child with an older woman, presumably a mother. He paused to wonder about mothers; if he'd had one, what she had been like, did Winnie and Rogers know her? The next was Winnie in a modern photo, examining a computer while a smartly dressed dark haired, dark goateed, man leaned next to her, pointing at something on the screen – neither looking at the camera, the candidness of it somehow making it better.

As he looked through the photos, looking at images of lives lived long ago and lives enjoyed recently, he felt again the stirrings of something deep in his subconscious. He felt like he should be able to grasp the buried feelings, snatch them up and examine them, learn their secrets. Instead, it felt as if focusing on the feelings only made them more slippery and hard to grasp. He climbed from the chair, frustrated and irritated. He didn't know why he was looking at her pictures, why it mattered.

A glance at the window showed the light dwindling from the day and he knew it was time to go. He walked silently down the hall, pausing outside her bedroom door. He listened quietly and only heard the sound of the neighborhood around them. Turning on his heel he took a step away and then paused.

_Should I say goodbye? _He thought haltingly, looking uneasily over his shoulder at her door. Without thought, he turned to the door and pulled it open quietly. The room was dim, the dying light outside the window just lighting it up enough to see. He stepped through the door and found Winnie, laying curled up on her side on the bed. He saw that she had a gun partially tucked under her pillow and couldn't help the small nod of approval. She was obviously sleeping. He moved closer, standing beside the bed, towering over her, very aware that in this moment he could easily kill her or incapacitate her.

That cold thought decided it for him. He crouched next to the bed, lowering himself easily and silently to the floor, resting against the wall in the space between the bed and the nightstand. He drew his knees up slightly and watched her sleep. She was tired and he would stay until she awoke and then he would leave. Her face seemed weary even in sleep, the corners of her mouth drawn down the tiniest bit into a mild frown. She was breathing deeply, slow breaths in and out, making her slim shoulders move the littlest bit with each inhale and exhale. He stared hard at her hair, unhappy with it for a reason he couldn't understand; it was just wrong.

After several long minutes of watching her, he looked around the room slowly, really taking it in. It was a very soft space, nothing too heavy or too dark anywhere, but still fairly simply decorated. He felt comfortable in here, a sensation that simultaneously made him distinctly uncomfortable. His eyes landed on yet another framed photograph, this one right next to his head on the nightstand.

He picked it up and tilted it towards the window, so he could examine it more clearly. He was in this one, and so was she. He had her in his arms, dipped low, both of them wrapped up in the moment and in each other. He was transfixed by her face, the smile on her face, her eyes locked to his. For his part, the version of himself in the photograph looked like he had everything he'd ever wanted right there in his smartly uniformed arms. The man in the picture was Bucky. That man was the man that the sleeping woman beside him was crying over.

"It's not me," he murmured, putting the photo back on the nightstand. He leaned his head back against the wall and opened his ears and his senses up to the room and the apartment around them, keeping himself on the taut edge of awareness, while his eyes never left her face.

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Winnie knew she couldn't have been asleep more than a couple of hours when she was awoken by a hand pressing down over her mouth. She immediately kicked her legs out, her knees and feet connecting solidly into the person hovering over her. "Calm down," a familiar flat voice spoke familiar words directly into her ear and she flinched hard, making the slightest muffled squawk behind the hand on her mouth.

"There are at least three people in your home," Bucky continued in a voice so quiet she had to struggle to hear it, "Will you scream if I remove my hand?" She shook her head minutely and he removed his hand. Winnie sat up slowly, keeping her head tilted close to his. "What's happening?" She whispered to him, watching as he kept his eyes on the door with laser focus.

He waved a hand at her, indicating he wanted her to be quiet, she assumed. Winnie rose slowly off the bed as he moved away from the bed, standing at the foot of it. She stepped to his side and his metal arm moved out, blocking her path towards the door. He cast a quick glare at her and she pressed her lips together in consternation, but stayed behind him. They both whipped their heads in the direction of the bedroom door when the very slightest of creaks sounded from just outside it.

Winnie felt her SHIELD training coming to the forefront of her mind, almost unwillingly, and she found herself repositioning her body, stepping further behind Bucky, giving herself room to act and react. Bucky drew himself up to his full height, his fists tightening in readiness, and she realized suddenly that she had no idea why he was still there. Her doorknob began turning slowly and the thought left her head.

The moment the door opened and the first figure eased into the room, Winnie lashed out with her mind, before Bucky could even move a muscle. The person was yanked by their pants and shirt roughly, letting out a cry as they were thrown into the wall next to the door, and she ripped the gun from the person's hand, casting it across the room. With a growl Bucky moved towards the door, until a huge shape suddenly barrelled through it throwing the door into Bucky's head, knocking him back several steps, right into Winnie. The two of them were tangled into each other harshly and Winnie crashed into the nightstand with a bone jarring smash, crying out when she felt something crack in her side. Bucky followed her to the floor, crushing her briefly before leaping agilely to his feet, crouched in readiness before her.

In a rush, the group at the door was flooding into the dark room, all of them moving for Bucky, the big one grabbing him and pulling him away. "Bucky!" She yelled, throwing everything she had into pulling his attacker off of him, feeling the familiar resistance and realizing who this 'attacker' was even as she tossed him a few feet back.

Steve tumbled to the floor and Bucky went for him just as Winnie shouted, "Stop!" The light flicked on then and she moved her eyes to the doorway to see Tony standing there, in the Iron Man suit, his hand lingering casually by the light switch he'd just turned on.

"Hey kid," Tony said, his voice filtered in that strange way it had when he wore the suit, "Strange company you're keeping." He raised an arm towards Bucky and though she had no idea what he intended to do to him, she reacted instinctively, shoving Tony's arm down towards the ground and then heaving him back through the doorway, suit and all.

"Hey!" He cried as he stumbled through the door. Winnie kept an arm wrapped around her injured side and scrambled to her feet, climbing over the bed and clumsily coming to a halt in front of Bucky, wedging herself in-between him and Steve, who was still on the floor.

"It's ok," she mumbled over her shoulder to him. He said nothing in response, but she was relieved that he wasn't making a move to get past her. He looked feral he was so angry.

She saw Tony step back into the room and the facial covering on the suit lifted, revealing his irritated face. He offered an arm to the person laying fairly stunned on the ground, still recovering from Winnie's throwing him there. She saw it was Sam and didn't have a moment to feel bad before Steve climbed to his feet, his face wary, and his eyes wide.

"Winnie," he said quietly, "I thought you were dead." She smiled up at him and took the couple steps over to him, walking into his arms eagerly, still clutching her injured ribs. He gripped her in a hug that made her smile and then wince. When she let out a small gurgle of pain he released her, holding her at arm's length, worry on his face.

"You're hurt, why is he here? What's going on?" He rapid-fire asked her, before turning to Bucky. "Bucky, how are you here? Do you remember who are?" He asked his old friend just as quickly, before his normally genial face clenched down into a glare so frightening that even Winnie pulled away from him a little bit. "Did you hurt her? What have you done to her? What did you let Hydra do to her?" Steve pushed Winnie towards her bed and she fell onto it in surprise as Steve charged towards Bucky, grabbing him by both flesh and metal arm and driving him into the wall so abruptly and so roughly that it cracked the plaster floor to ceiling.

"Stop! Stop! That's enough! For god's sake!" Winnie yelled. Everyone paused and she got to her feet, grunting angrily at the pain in her side. Sam walked over to her, lending her an arm. He looked from her to the men at each other's throats and back over his shoulder to Tony.

"Look!" He yelled, "We need to _leave_, all this noise will definitely attract attention! You need to pack your shit and get out of here!" The room was silent until the whirring sound of Tony moving had them all turning to him. He had reached into Winnie's closet and pulled out a suitcase, tossing it on the bed.

"Come with me if you want to live," Tony told her, a smile turning up one side of his face, "I've always wanted to say that; it feels pretty damn good." Sam snickered.

"I don't get it," Winnie and Steve said at the same time. Tony's smile fell a little and he glanced up at Bucky. "How about you, sweetheart?" He asked the Winter Soldier. Winnie glanced back to Bucky to see his face tightened up, still ready to fight and clearly perturbed by the wild swinging of circumstance and emotion this night was taking. She moved toward Bucky and Steve and put a hand on Steve's arm.

"Listen to them," she told him, "Go pack yourself some clothes, and grab whatever's important. I'll do the same. We need to go now, all of us." Steve studied her eyes for a moment and released Bucky abruptly, turning and storming from the room. Winnie nodded at Tony and Sam. "Can you please grab the pictures from the other rooms, put them in a bag?" She asked them. The two of them nodded, the gesture looking strangely amusing on Tony in his huge suit. When the room was clear, she looked back at Bucky, who was still looking around in something near panic, obviously struggling with something. She stepped towards him, reaching for him and stopping with a gasp when the movement pulled her injured ribs. His eyes turned to hers and his brow lowered angrily.

"I hurt you," he said evenly, and she shook her head. "No, this whole mess just ended badly," she answered immediately, matching his tone, "Besides, I'll heal as quickly as you would." One his eyebrows quirked up slightly and she smirked at him. "You and I should have a long talk about stuff at some point," she told him, "That's if you're staying …?"

He stared at her blankly for a moment and then gestured at her bag. "That one in the metal suit wants you to pack," he said flatly.

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Steve had what felt like a million questions. The very last thing that they knew about Winnie was that she'd been taken from Natasha's safe-house, the place left in near ruins. It felt like a dream, everything that followed. Fighting Bucky. Stopping the threat the Helicarriers posed. Fighting Bucky. Saving Bucky. Bucky nearly killing him. Falling. He'd spent a day in the hospital, happy to be alive but terrified for Winnie.

Sam had explained that Natasha had disappeared as soon as she knew he was safe. "She never said it," Sam had told him, "But I'm pretty sure she went looking for your friend, Winnie." This didn't help him feel much better because it gave him reason to be worried about them both now.

Contacting Stark seemed like it made the most sense. There was no one else in the world that Winnie would go to for help, other than Tony, especially at a time like this. He'd asked Sam to call, and he'd tried to be cryptic over the phone, but neither of them was prepared for Tony's furious response to Sam's roundabout way of asking about Winnie. He'd shown up outside the hospital room less than two hours later, in the suit, ready to blast a hole in the wall.

"Why the hell wouldn't you call me? Either of you?" Tony had snapped, uncharacteristically angry. Steve hadn't felt like apologizing. "We didn't know who to trust," Steve replied. Tony had slammed a metal fist onto the table next to Steve's hospital bed.

"You couldn't trust me? You wouldn't have her if it weren't for me! You do understand that, right Cap? Now she's missing, and you have no clue where she could be, because you couldn't _trust me?_" Tony had every right to be irritated as far as Steve was concerned, but it wasn't helpful. Before their bickering could escalate into a full scale argument with fist-fight included, Tony's AI, Jarvis, had spoken from within the suit.

"Sir, the number you asked me to monitor," the sophisticated machine said, "A voicemail has been left on it."

"Play it," Tony had said immediately, his tone bordering on eager. Steve had been confused, but given the current situation, if Tony was looking hopeful, it was a good thing.

The message had played aloud, Winnie's broken voice sounded from the speakers of the suit. He recognized that tone, the crushing despair, the fear, the worry; things were bad and he needed to get to her. One glance at Tony and then another at Sam had immediately solidified their choice to go get her, knowing it could full well be a Hydra trap.

Imagine his surprise to find the apartment dark and empty and then to be attacked by the Winter Soldier in her bedroom, and then be tossed to the ground by an angry, injured Winnie herself. She looked terrible, her hair was shorn short again, she had dark circles smeared beneath each eye and was hunched over clutching at her ribs. He could not for the life of himself wrap his mind around why or how Bucky was there with her, apparently protecting her, and she apparently protecting him.

"He grabbed me from the place they were holding me," she told Steve quietly, as they sat in the back of the large SUV Tony had Happy send for them, "After everything, he came back and got me out of there."

"He saved you from the place he brought you to in the first place?" Sam interjected, the incredulity in his voice unmistakeable, "Isn't he your fiancé?" Winnie had glared at Sam and a quick glance next to her showed Bucky giving Sam an incredibly blank, yet somehow threatening look as well. Sam held his hands up in apology. "I'm just saying, you two might need to see a therapist," he concluded, before pressing his lips together and turning around in his seat to talk with Happy again up front.

"They wiped his mind, Pierce told me and the other people there told me," Winnie concluded, talking as if Bucky wasn't right there, "He was brainwashed and memory-wiped, before and after his missions, and then stuck in cryogenic freezing like I was, in-between." Steve took a deep breath and didn't miss the sharp look Bucky directed at her.

"You didn't know?" Steve asked him, trying to keep his tone level, "Do you remember Bucky? When Hydra took her? When we thought she was dead? How hard that was for you?" Bucky levelled a hard stare at him and his jaw ticked. "No," he replied briefly, before looking back at Winnie, his gaze blank. Winnie looked up at him for a moment before looking back to Steve.

"He doesn't remember, don't you get it? He doesn't remember anything," she told him, the sadness in her voice unmistakeable, "He doesn't remember me, or you, or anything except the past day and half." Bucky turned and looked out the window. Steve took in his rigid and defensive position in the seat next to her, it was obvious the Winter Soldier was on edge, in a state of constant readiness, and he didn't look happy to be here. Steve paused to wonder why Bucky _was_ here, why he'd gone back for Winnie, why she mattered, how he knew she meant anything.

"Why?" He blurted out, causing Bucky to turn back to him, "Why are you here? If you don't remember, why bother? Why not go off?" Bucky levelled a hard stare at him and then glanced down at Winnie, who was watching him carefully. "Because of her," Bucky answered bluntly, before looking back out the window.

"But why?" Steve pressed, determined to get something out of the silent and deadly-looking man. Bucky looked back at him, the blank stare hardening. "I don't know," he answered simply. Steve had to wonder if that was the truth. _Could it really be that simple? He can't remember, but obviously something is going on in there, because the right things seem to matter to him, almost involuntarily_, Steve analyzed his old friend internally.

Bucky and Winnie were sitting in the back row of the SUV, not touching each other, hardly looking at one another, but Steve recognized the stubborn determination on Winnie's face, the look that said she was going to make this work to her will one way or another. Bucky was harder to read, he was blank, so devoid of obvious emotion, but Steve thought he seemed nearly compelled to be there, to be near Winnie, to be near Steve himself, it seemed. _That has to be some kind of memory reflex,_ Steve thought.

The drive stretched out silently, the only noises were the occasional murmurs of Happy and Sam chatting. Eventually they reached a private airfield, driving across the tarmac towards an expensive looking private plane. They climbed from the vehicle and Winnie stretched hugely upon exiting the SUV and Steve didn't miss the way Bucky watched her, his eyes locked on her as she hooked her hands together and stretched them above her head, craning into it.

"Where are we going?" She asked aloud, not speaking to anyone in particular. No one answered her and she took a step towards Steve, pulling on his sleeve. "Where?" She asked him. He glanced down at her and shrugged. "Stark didn't say, not to either of us," Steve explained, his eyes darting over to where Happy was speaking quietly to the pilot, "I don't think he wants to risk anyone over hearing."

"He doesn't want me to hear," Bucky said quietly, walking up next to them. Steve and Winnie both looked over at him. Bucky was staring carefully at the plane, his eyes narrowed with a combination of suspicion and wariness. He finally looked over at them both, his eyes darting from Steve to Winnie quickly before staring off into the distance.

"It's the right call, caution around an enemy is smart," Bucky continued, his tone not changing from the flat blank one he'd spoken in so far, "I would not tell any of you anything either."

"That's not comforting," Winnie said to him, her voice mildly chastising. Bucky looked back at her and Steve watched the two of them stare at each, almost glaring, each evaluating the other carefully. He was struck by how differently they looked at each other than he remembered; it made him feel depressed. Winnie seemed to be handling it in stride though and merely shook her head at Bucky.

"You aren't our enemy any longer," she told him softly, "You won't be again."

"Hydra always retrieves their assets," Bucky replied calmly and Winnie crossed her arms over her chest. Bucky may not have recognized the look growing on her face, but Steve did, and he took a step back, not wanting her temper directed at himself. _Bucky needs to learn somehow,_ Steve thought ruefully, _let him take his licks._

"Are you going to let them take me back?" She asked him sharply and Bucky's brow drew down severely, a dangerous look crossing his features. "No," he responded firmly.

"Do you want them to retrieve you?" She pressed on. Bucky glared harder at her and Winnie stepped closer. "I don't want those things either," she said softly, "It's not going to happen." Bucky looked away, his face making it clear he didn't believe her. She stepped past him, slapping him lightly on the chest with the back of her hand.

"Besides, we've got back-up now," she said a little more cheerfully.

"Damn straight," Sam piped up, following her as they walked towards the plane.


	13. Chapter 13 - You Know I Do

_**Chapter 13 – You Know I Do**_

_**Two Weeks Later – Somewhere in the Midwest**_

"Who ate the last of the peanut butter? Again?" Winnie yelled from the kitchen, hanging off the pantry door. "You don't need to yell," Steve replied mildly from the dining table, glancing over at her calmly, "We're right here." Winnie shut the pantry door and glared over at Bucky and Steve, where they sat in front of a lap top watching the umpteenth movie of their past lives.

"You guys keep finishing things," she said lamely, "I never get to eat what I want because it's always already gone." Both men shrugged simultaneously and turned back to the video they had just paused. Winnie put her hands on her hips for a moment, debating whether she should gripe at them further, but Bucky glanced up slightly, catching her eye and raising an eyebrow at her.

She pressed her lips together, scrunching her nose up a little, before making a quiet aggravated noise in the back of her throat and turning on her heel to leave the kitchen. She walked down the hallway, passing their bedrooms, and the bathroom, before heading out the back door and in to the back yard. She walked barefoot across the lawn, and stopped when the green grass did. Before her were endless fields of golden grasses, as far as she could see. It was soothing and oddly hypnotic. Having grown up in the city, and lived in cities her entire life, this kind of huge-skied environment left her in quiet awe.

It hadn't been very long, but she was starting to feel like she'd been stuck in this pretty little house in the middle of nowhere forever. Steve had tackled the "make Bucky remember" project with gusto, and at first she was on board, flashing pictures, telling stories, watching videos, but after the first few days it became apparent that none of it was helping. She would have been able to continue if Bucky were at the very least enjoying these trips down attempted-memory-lane, but he just faced them with grim determination.

She didn't think he wanted to remember because it was important to him, she got the distinct feeling he was going along with it all simply to keep them happy. He accepted that he was who they said he was. He accepted that they all had a deep and meaningful past together; she was actually surprised by how accepting he was of it all. He just wasn't remembering, and if she or Steve pressed him, he would close down and storm off to his room, muttering that he had a headache.

Winnie crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself against a slight chill in the air. She was also having a hard time with being tucked away this way. Tony was true to his word; he kept them safe. He had enough money to keep them safe and hidden, but she was bored. She never thought she could miss the bewildering craziness of their lives with SHIELD, but she surely did. She longed for their apartment, her things, her clothes, training, seeing Natasha, and walking around the city she'd grown to love.

_I don't even know where we are, none of us do._ There was nothing to earmark their location and they never left the house. Any food they wanted was delivered, the television was full of channels and movies, none of them local, the same as the satellite radio. They had internet access, but Tony had had something done to it, keeping them from being able to see where they were. Bucky had offered to run off the property to determine where they were, but she had shut that down immediately.

"If Tony wanted us to know, he'd show us, he'll have a way to keep you from doing it," she had warned him. Bucky had merely shrugged and gone back to the book Steve had him reading (a detailed biography of James Buchanan Barnes' life). She wanted to know where they were, but liked to think she was sensible enough to understand the secrecy, to appreciate the lengths Tony had gone to keep them safe. She had a nagging sense that Tony wasn't only focused on keeping them safe; she thought some of it had to do with keeping Bucky 'locked' up here.

They had seen Tony once after arriving here, and although she was happy and grateful, she couldn't help but notice the way Tony looked at Bucky. Contempt, anger, resentment, fury; all emotions that she didn't think should have been at home on Tony's face. It made her nervous. Steve had explained it to her, explained what Bucky, the Winter Soldier, had done. How he had killed Howard and his wife.

That was a tough pill to swallow. Howard had been a dear friend whom she missed dreadfully, and she knew that if it weren't for Bucky, she may have been given the chance to meet him again, as an incredibly old man, and see him and hear his voice, one last time. Bucky had seemed to sense her distance that night, staring at her from across the room, instead of standing next to her and studying her, as he usually did.

She had moved past it though, because deep down she knew he hadn't made the choice to kill Howard. It was a directive thrust upon him, burned into his brain. She would be just as well to be angry at him for breathing, or walking; the order to kill the elder Stark was simply a reflex for an otherwise empty mind.

She heard the back door open behind her and knew without turning that it was Bucky coming outside after her. He was fixated on the thought that she was a flight risk; Bucky was convinced that she was planning to run, even after her lack of attempts to do so for the past two weeks.

"I haven't gone anywhere," she mumbled, knowing he'd hear her. She listened as he walked through the grass, coming to a stop a pace ahead of her. "I can see that," he replied. She glanced up and saw he was looking at her, no, more like studying her, as he always seemed to do. As restful as it was for her to look at his face and just bask momentarily in the sensation that her Bucky was alive, she found the constant examination of herself unnerving.

"You're doing it again," she said quietly, looking away. He didn't reply and she continued to stare out at the grasses, faintly enjoying the small shushing noises they made as they brushed against each other gently. "Why are you out here?" He asked, and she shrugged. "It's peaceful, I like it," she answered, gripping her arms a little more tightly. She looked over at him again and saw that now he was staring at her hands where they were each wrapped around their opposite bicep.

"Are you cold?" He asked her, only slight concern in his tone. She shook her head and dropped her arms. "No it's just a reflex, I guess," she said. They were each silent for a few moments. "Are you going to ask me anything?" He finally spoke, almost as if he wished he didn't have to. She shook her head and brushed some hair off of her forehead where it was tickling her skin.

"What's the point, Bucky?" She responded tiredly, "We both know you aren't going to remember anything, Hydra did an excellent job making sure you couldn't. They're nothing if not sadistically thorough." He didn't reply. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking in a lungful of the clean fresh air through her nose, enjoying the pureness of it. "You want to leave," he stated, clearly making an observation and not asking a question.

"Where would I go?" She shot back, turning to look at him, feeling a glare growing on her face, "Who would I run to? What would I do? All I have left is Steve." He didn't respond, his face remaining flat. She swallowed and looked down at her feet before looking back up at him. "That came out wrong," she said, feeling like she had hurt his feelings, "You're here too…" She trailed off lamely and he looked at her solemnly.

"You don't have me," he said quietly.

"Don't I?" She spat back, trying not to sound resentful. She waved a hand at him. "I spent four years longing for you, and before that, nearly 70 frozen in a tube, my very last thoughts were about you before they stuck me in it!" She exclaimed hotly, "Before that – I spent a year with them! I tell Steve I don't remember much, but that's a _lie_, Bucky, it's a goddamn lie because I remember every last second of it, and how I wished and prayed harder than anything that you would find me, that we could be together again!" She rubbed a hand over her mouth and walked a few steps away, trying to calm down.

"And we've come full circle again, haven't we?" She asked plaintively, "Because here you are and you don't know me at all, remember me at all, I'm nothing but some kind of buried impulse inside you! It's the cruelest joke!" He didn't respond or move behind her and she clenched her teeth, trying to force herself not to cry this time. _You're a super hero; you're Nomad, that girl doesn't cry, she isn't the adorable Winnie Johnson, simpering like an idiot,_ she raged at herself.

"Sometimes," she said, with a strangled laugh in her voice, "Sometimes I wish it was me who couldn't remember; that you remembered everything and I was the one with everything buried and lost – it seems simpler, doesn't it?" She spun to him, to see him regarding her with something close to pity. The expression on his face was unexpected and unusual for him, and it took the wind out of her sails.

"Gonna tell me to calm down?" She finally said, smiling the slightest bit. His eyes glinted with the very faintest spark of amusement and he shook his head. "No," he told her. Winnie looked down at her feet, at the places where the damp ground had made errant bits of grass stick to her bare skin. She wiggled her toes in the green beneath her and tried to center herself, to keep herself calm; the last thing she needed was to ruin yet another conversation with Bucky by making something shoot across the yard.

"Can I hug you, please?" She asked him carefully. It was a request that she was trying hard not to make very often. The very first time had been their second night here, when she had awoken from a horrifying nightmare, one where Bucky died terribly in front of her, over and over again, screaming the screams she had heard that day in the bowels of the Triskelion. He had come to her bedroom door, concerned over the noises she was making and had moved to the side of her bed, crouching there and examining her like some kind of strange piece of artwork he couldn't quite grasp the meaning of. She had been so hugely relieved to see him, to see his living face in front of her that she had nearly crumpled against him.

"Please, let me hug you?" She had asked quietly and almost tearfully, leaning towards him and dying for him to wrap her in his arms. He had grunted his assent and she'd clung to him tightly, burying her face in the crook of his neck, pretending, foolishly, that it was the old days. It wasn't even remotely the same, of course, because he didn't return the gesture, just sat there and let her cling to him like a lifeline until she'd become embarrassed by her display of weakness and had turned abruptly from him.

It opened a door though, and every now and then in the following days, she would ask for a hug, and he would allow her to press herself against him, clutching her arms about him, trying to recapture, for however brief a moment, at least a flavor of what they used to have.

Now, he nodded at her and she trudged through the grass towards him, feeling like she was some kind of addict, sick in the head, knowing that what she craved was only going to rip her further asunder, but feeling completely unable to resist it. She slipped against him with an ease that spoke of familiarity, her head resting in the usual spot against his collarbone. She slid her arms around him and pressed herself against him, trying to ignore the feeling of his metal arm against her own arm, wanting to pretend it was 1943 and they were happy again.

This time, for the first time in decades, he brought his own arms up, haltingly, as if he'd forgotten how and wrapped them across her back. She forced herself not to read anything into it, and simply enjoyed the moment. He rested his chin lightly on top of her head and she pressed her lips together to keep herself from saying something.

When she parted from him, stepping out of his arms and clearing her throat a little, she smiled sheepishly at him and found him staring at her again, though less clinically this time than usual.

"You hugged me back," she said, wincing immediately and wishing she hadn't said that. She had an irrational fear that drawing attention to it would ensure he never did such a thing again. He only nodded. "It was the right thing to do?" He said carefully, drawing the sentence up into a question. She nodded once and then shrugged.

"Well, I'd like to say I don't want pity hugs, but I don't think it would be very believable," she answered, "Though, it's not a good idea for me to do this." He stared at her quizzically and she took a deep breath, taking another step away from him. "I'm deluding myself, playing pretend," she explained, "It's just a very stupid idea and it won't help make this whole thing easier on me; I should know better."

"How could you know better?" He asked her, genuine curiosity in his voice, "Are you familiar with this situation?" She blinked at him, searching his face to see if he was joking. He appeared quite serious and she finally shook her head. "No, I'm definitely not," she said quietly. He nodded once, as if the answer was satisfying. They stared at each other for a little longer, before she began to grow uncomfortable and gestured at the house.

"We should go inside," she told him. He nodded and they both turned to walk back.

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He didn't really have much of a reason in his head for why he'd done it. Each and every time she hugged him, he'd felt mildly uncomfortable, not because she was being inappropriate, but because he felt so uncertain, so confused. The pulsing in his mind, something that was so familiar to him now that he ceased to find it unpleasant, would flare up and he would open himself to the strange sensation of her pressing up against him and clutching at him as if he were going to disappear.

She was unhappy some of the time, occasionally angry, sometimes in a good mood that only Steve could bring out in her, but quite often she was quiet and thoughtful, lost in her own head. When she requested hugs from him, she was none of those things. She was simply lonely, he thought, heartbroken obviously. Heartbroken was a word that Steve had thrown around, and once he'd had it explained to him, Bucky could only think of Winnie in conjunction with that word: _overcome by sorrow._

He thought it was the least he could do to offer her some solace; apparently even looking at him was painful for her at times, so if he could make her feel better, make her smile for even a moment, simply by standing there and letting her embrace him, then he would allow it as often as she demanded.

And today, today he really wanted to know what she felt like, if he were to hug her back. He couldn't explain it any further than that. She had been so bitter, so irritated with herself and their current lot, and her appealing face had turned to him and asked with simple sincerity for this hug and he'd allowed it. She was warm though, and firm, and her hair smelled like the air out in the grass; he had to know what it would feel like to close his arms around her. It had been satisfying. The pulsing in his brain slowed down, not fluttering crazily beneath the surface, but instead undulating firmly, as if to take a slow and steady approach to trying to break through.

He had lowered his chin to her head, almost as if to fully tuck her into himself, and found that satisfying as well. When she'd stepped away, he'd been briefly disappointed, the front of his body suddenly colder now that she was gone. They had walked back into the house, and he'd found his gaze drawn to examine the back of her neck, the outline of her shoulder blades pressing against her t-shirt, moving down her frame, past the dip of her waist and slight swell of her hips, to her… He'd looked away quickly then, fairly certain that that particular part of her body was not a way to help him remember her, or to try and figure her out.

Steve was on the phone when they entered, an unusual sight considering that the device in question could only receive calls, not make them.

"I can, yes," he was saying on the phone, a hard, earnest expression on his face, "When? Well, that's not much time, but…" He glanced over at the two of them and a guilty expression crossed his face. Bucky thought Steve was one of the easiest to read people he'd encountered so far and right now he could tell that Steve was going to tell them something he knew that they, or rather, Winnie, was not going to like.

"Alright, I will, and Nat, thanks," he said quietly, before hanging up the phone. He turned to them and Bucky said nothing, knowing that Winnie would do it for him. "What's going on and where are you going?" She immediately asked, her tone heavy with unhappiness. Bucky turned his gaze to her, again unable to stop himself from drinking in her face. Steve swallowed and gestured at the phone.

"That was Natasha," he began, "She got in touch with Stark, convinced him to put her through. She needs me to go with her… somewhere." Winnie narrowed her eyes and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest. "Alone, I take it?" She asked sharply. Steve nodded and then stepped towards her, scooping up her hands in his and holding them tightly.

"I'll be back, I promise," he told her. She smiled a little and nodded at him. "I know," she replied, her tone affectionate, "I know you will. But how long will you be gone for?" Steve glanced over at Bucky, who kept his expression emotionless.

"I'm not sure, she wasn't sure, but she's got Sam with her, and they need me to… go with them," he said unconvincingly. Sam had only stayed here in this house for a couple of days before he left, almost without explanation. Winnie pulled her hands from Steve's and moved past him into the kitchen. Both men trailed after her and watched as she got herself a cup of coffee and then climbed up on the counter to sit there.

"I don't want to stay here forever, Steve," she said, clutching the cup in both hands, "I need to be out there again. Can you ask Natasha for help with that? I don't think we need to be in such deep hiding anymore." Steve nodded eagerly and walked towards her again, stopping close to her. He put a hand on her shoulder before chucking her under the chin. "You won't be here forever, we'll definitely work on it; I appreciate everything Stark has done, but it's probably a little overkill at this point."

Steve looked about to say more, but a glance back at Bucky seemed to change his mind. "I have to go get ready," he said instead. Winnie nodded and Steve left, moving quickly down the hall to his bedroom. Bucky appreciated their need to get out, he knew Steve was very eager to be out in the world again. Bucky didn't really care one way or the other. Hydra hadn't found them here, neither had what was left of SHIELD, or anyone for that matter. It was safe. He glanced over at Winnie, who was staring dejectedly down into her cup of coffee.

She was safe. That was important. He walked towards her and stopped a few steps away. "You're upset," he said to her, and she looked up at him, a rueful smile pulling at one side of her mouth. "I'll miss him," she replied simply, "Things always seem like they'll be alright when Steve is here." He nodded, ignoring the slightest of barbs in his chest. She couldn't say the same thing about him, and he didn't blame her; but there was a small part of him that wished she did. He wasn't even sure why, he just felt it.

Within twenty minutes he was standing a few feet behind her as she waved to Steve out the front window, her face stretched into a fake smile as he climbed into an unmarked SUV and was driven away. "Captain America couldn't hide forever, I guess," she said quietly, her hand falling to her side when it was obvious Steve couldn't possibly see her waving anymore.

"You can," he said, without thinking. She turned to him, her forehead knitted together in confusion. "Why?" She asked him and he shrugged. "Why not?" She finally answered herself, "It's not like there's a whole lot for me to do out there." She turned back to the window and stared at the empty driveway again, bringing a hand up and resting her palm lightly on the glass.

"God, I wish I could get drunk," she muttered, and he smiled a little, despite himself, pulling his features back together when she moved to turn back to him. "Want to watch some TV?" She asked him, her tone guilty, as if she knew it was a terrible option. He shrugged and moved towards the couch, taking a seat at one end and watching as she made her way over and sat on the other end, curling her feet up next to herself, a movement he was growing accustomed to seeing her do. She seemed to like sitting as curled into herself as possible.

She flicked the TV on and flicked through several dozen channels before settling on a mundane program about building homes. They both stared sightlessly at the television set, and he knew she was hardly absorbing it. "You know," she said finally, "We got engaged to be married on a couch." He blinked at her, not certain how to respond.

"You basically confessed that you loved me, kissed me like crazy, and then suddenly we were engaged, all in one sitting," she spoke with faint amusement, her eyes slightly unfocused, and then she let out a quiet, half-hearted laugh, "Sorry, that was a stupid thing to say." She turned and looked directly at him. "It must be a little creepy hearing me talk about things like that, when you don't remember it," she added.

"You remember it," he said to her, "Why would it be stupid to say?" Winnie blinked at him and opened her mouth to respond, but she closed it quickly and turned back to the TV, her face and neck flushing slightly. "Never mind," she mumbled, watching the television show again with intense interest. He couldn't watch the program, so he watched her. She fascinated him. He wondered what she was thinking all the time, watching her face move and change at whatever ran through her mind.

He liked hearing her talk, for the most part, enjoyed the sound of her voice. He liked her wry sense of humor when she allowed it out. She was a good story teller when she decided to get really detailed with a recounting of past events, and he could very nearly picture the things she was telling him, not because of memories, but because she painted a vivid picture. He knew she could be fierce, he knew she could be weak, and he knew she could be a myriad of things in between.

He wondered if he would care to watch her if she hadn't once figured so heavily in his life before, if the buried part of him wasn't still in love with her. Love. There was a concept so beyond him that it made no sense. He almost thought it was stupid, until he would catch the burning intensity in her eyes when they watched an old clip of him and her together, the way he would sometimes see her staring at him before she seemed to shake herself awake.

He didn't know if he was happy that he couldn't remember that emotion, or not, he only wished that he didn't upset her just by sitting there and not knowing what he should be saying or doing to appear more normal.

Winnie stretched on the couch, and his eyes moved to the front of her shirt, where her arched back pressed her breasts up against the fabric, outlining them beneath the cotton. He wanted to look away, again knowing that staring at her there was not useful in anyway. He knew why he did, though. He had no memory, but he was still a man, still biologically sound and normal, except for the metal arm. She was very aesthetically pleasing, even someone with no memory could see that.

Every day he discovered that he just knew how to do things, even if he had no memory of them before actually doing them, like shaving, or washing a dish, or reading a book. He assumed that noticing these things about her was simply a part of that. Winnie settled on the couch again and resumed watching TV. He could tell by the way she was sitting and holding herself that she was completely unaware that he was staring at her the way he was.

After a couple of moments, he turned his attention to the screen, trying to focus on what was happening. He really didn't enjoy television that much, but it seemed to serve as a good distraction from time to time, and right now he was grateful. Nearly an hour later, she spoke again, shaking him out of a near trance as he stared at the TV.

"I think I might go to bed," she told him, "Are you going to stay up?" He shook his head and she turned the television off and then climbed from the couch and walked a few steps towards the hallway. She paused at the entryway and turned to him, a small smile on her face.

"Goodnight Bucky," she said softly, and he could tell she was growing sad again. "Goodnight," he responded automatically. She nodded and turned from him, disappearing down the dark hallway. He listened to her pad away on the carpet in the hall, listened as she went into the bathroom for a few minutes before going into her bedroom. He remained sitting on the couch for a few moments longer, before he got up and patrolled the house, checking windows and doors. When he felt satisfied things were safe, he went into his own bedroom and lay down on the bed, on top of the quilt and still fully dressed. He stared up at the dark ceiling, his mind swirling around and around, until he fell asleep.

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Winnie had no idea about what they should be doing now that Steve had been whisked away. Internally, she'd been in a near panic; being alone with Bucky was not something that had happened very often over the past couple of weeks, Steve was always there, solid, practical, good-hearted Steve. He was both a tutor and a cheerleader for Bucky, and Winnie remembered him being much the same way for herself in the first couple of years after she'd woken up.

She stirred at the huge pan of eggs in front of herself, staring blindly at the backsplash above the stovetop, and paused to wonder what waking up then, so shaken, so broken, so emotionally destroyed, would have been like with no memory. _No memory may have made it easier_, she thought, adding some spice to the eggs, unconsciously cooking them exactly the same way her mother always had. _No grief over Bucky, no memories of pain and fear,_ she thought, _but no memories of Steve, no comfort from his presence._ She imagined Steve's upset in that scenario and it made her sad for the imaginary Steve.

Winnie more than most understood how important his family was to him, and she also knew quite plainly that she and Bucky were all that he considered family in the whole world; having her wake up with no memory of him would have been heartrending for him. Winnie shook her head, pulling herself from a reverie where she was starting to feel close to tears with upset for her imaginary Steve. She pulled the egg-pan from the stove, jabbing at it a few times to make sure nothing stuck to the pan.

In a few minutes, she had two plates loaded down with scrambled eggs, with a bowl of extras on the table, several slices of toast for each of them, as well as several pieces of bacon, that she had been making in the oven, not a trick learned from her mother, but from Bruce, who was turning out to be surprisingly health conscious. She refilled her coffee mug, stuffing a piece of bacon in her mouth to swish around with the coffee, enjoying the mix of flavor.

"Bucky!" She called, swallowing the mouthful, "Breakfast!" She put out juice and spreads for the toast and took a seat at the table, tucking one leg up on the chair, her knee resting on the table's edge. She heard him open his door and move down the hall into the bathroom, and breathed a sigh of relief when she heard him go inside. Steve had explained mornings to him after the first couple of days. Dental hygiene, showering, shaving, deodorant: none of these were things she could have brought herself to say he needed, to his face, without feeling humiliated – but Steve had taken it in stride, explaining what the tasks were and why they must be done each day.

Bucky hadn't been embarrassed, he'd only listened intently and then disappeared in the bathroom, emerging clean, with pleasant breath and no face scruff. Now it seemed she would not have to remind him again, and this made her happy.

"It's like a reflex," Steve had mentioned to her one day, his face intently earnest, "He has no memory of certain things, but once he tries to do them, some part of his mind and body, just remembers and he can do them just as well as he always could." _Reflex,_ she thought no, stuffing eggs in her mouth and chewing hungrily, _what else does he not know he remembers?_ Her mind went down what she was certain was a less than ladylike path for a moment, before she realized that her burning face would be a dead giveaway if she didn't control herself.

"Good morning," Bucky spoke haltingly as he entered the room, as if he was still uncertain whether it was the correct method of greeting her. "Morning," she replied, indicating the food in front of them, "There'd be peanut butter for the toast but I'm beginning to suspect that Steve was the one who finished it all, so you'll have to make do with jam."

Bucky nodded minutely and began to eat, and so did she. They were each absolutely silent for a few minutes as they devoured the food, and when her stomach felt tight as a drum, she climbed to her feet and grabbed her coffee cup, refilling it on her way to the living room.

She put the cup on the coffee table and flopped down on the couch, laying on her back, and slung an arm over her eyes as she mentally focused on digesting the food so she could stop feeling so abominably full. She heard Bucky cleaning up in the kitchen and was again grateful that Steve had explained that the cook should never clean up, especially when the cook was a lady. She had smirked then, certain that these were somewhat skewed old-world values that Steve was teaching Bucky, and perhaps not even things that they should be wasting time teaching him, but Steve had been insistent.

"It's about courtesy, Win, about learning how to treat those around yourself, not just with dishes, but with everything," Steve had explained to her, his tone serious. Laying now on the couch, full and content, she was certainly pleased that Bucky seemed to think nothing of cleaning up after she'd spent so long cooking them a huge breakfast.

The kitchen was silent after a time and she didn't hear Bucky come into the living room, didn't realize he was there, until he touched her stomach where it was showing, as part of her shirt had been pulled up when she'd laid down. She flinched away in surprise and he jerked back, but his face never lost the intensity it wore. Winnie pulled herself up into a half seated position, dragging her legs closer and she glared at him.

"You scared the bejesus out of me!" She cried, only partially serious, his eyes were locked on her stomach, narrowed and upset. "What happened to you?" He asked, his tone firm and dark, gesturing at her stomach. Winnie looked away and pulled her knees right up to her chest.

"Its scars," she said softly, looking away.

"I can see that there are scars," he replied, his tone growing darker as he added, "What scarred you like that?"

"Hydra," she responded quickly, only daring to look over at him briefly, "Back when they first grabbed me, I was… hurt." He didn't speak and she darted a glance up at his face to see that he just looked angry. She sighed. "I healed, but I obviously still scarred – I always will; healing quickly doesn't mean that your skin won't show the marks." She waited for him to nod, but he just levelled a scarily intense look at her, before waving his hand at her.

"Show me," he said seriously. She pressed her lips together and shook her head. "No, I don't want to talk about them," she told him. She hated the scars, hated the constant reminder about when and how her life had been so abnormally changed. She also thought they were just plain ugly, and while she wasn't nearly as vain as she used to be back in her own time, she still clung to enough femininity to wish that various parts of her body weren't skewed with thick, ugly scarring.

"Show me," he repeated, his voice more insistent than before, clearly growing upset. Winnie clenched her teeth and glared back at him. "I don't have to," she finally answered, "It isn't important."

"It is," he replied instantly, "To me, it is." He waved a hand at her again. "You shouldn't be marked that way," he continued, his face frowning, "That isn't right."

"What do you mean? Is this like my hair?" She asked him, leaning forward a bit, interest growing inside herself at the notion that something was sparking in his mind. He only shrugged though. "I don't know, it just shouldn't be," he told her, "Now, show me."

Winnie licked her lips and looked away, finally deciding that it wouldn't matter, that nothing she did with him or around him mattered anymore. _The lights are on, but Bucky isn't home,_ she thought, _besides, you know he's seen more of you, back when he was himself._

"Fine, but you have to show me your arm, all of it," she equivocated, deciding that if she were going to show him the things that made her most insecure, he had to as well. He was loathe to let any of them see his shoulder, see where and how the arm was attached. She'd caught a glimpse one time, not a lot, but just enough to make her want to destroy something. He glared at her now, clearly not liking compromise.

"It's the only way I'm letting you see my scars," she said seriously, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours." She smiled a little at the words, a hard, determined smile, and met his gaze as he took in her face with narrowed eyes. "Fine," he answered. Winnie took a deep breath and climbed to her feet, walking around to the other side of the coffee table. She pointed at the couch.

"Sit," she said. He did and she grabbed the hem of her t-shirt and took a deep breath, telling herself that he wanted to see scars, not her bra, so it was fine. The clinical look on his face didn't speak to any kind of attraction. _Besides, he's seen the goods before, you hussy._ Winnie pulled her t-shirt up and over her heard and grit her teeth together tightly. The scar on her stomach was the worst, she knew, the exit site for the metal bar that had impaled her that night.

"Hydra wasn't overly concerned with scarring," she said lamely, feeling uncomfortable. His eyes were locked to the scar, trailing over it. "What was it?" He finally asked quietly. She turned around, showing him the matching scars on her back. He surprised her by lunging forward slightly, reaching out for her belt loops and dragging her a few steps closer to him. He trailed the fingers of his flesh hand over the scarring on her back, before turning her bodily and looking back at the front half of the old wound.

"Something went all the way through," he said softly, disbelief in his voice. She nodded and tried to speak, but only made a dry clicking noise. She paused and swallowed, trying again. "I was in a phone booth, calling Howard for help, the man, the one who grabbed me, he smashed something straight through the door and the glass, pushed it into me and then shoved me through the back of the booth," she explained, "A piece of metal, it went through me, got stuck in me."

He took in a deep breath and leaned back and she felt able to breathe a little easier now that the warm sensation of his breath was no longer on her stomach. She gestured at her upper arms and shoulders, where yet more scars lived, mostly left from the glass and metal she'd been cut on during the incident.

"These are from the same time," she explained and tried very hard not to flinch when he ran his metal hand over them. His eyes roved the scars and she could see a muscle in his jaw twitching. Winnie stepped away and sat on the table, hiking up the legs of her pants, to her knees. The scarring on her shins was bad too, but she found that they were fairly easy to hide in dresses as long as she wore darker nylons. _You don't wear dresses anymore, anyway,_ she thought disjointedly, as cold metal fingers trailed over them.

"From the same time?" He asked her, turning her leg to the side to better see the scarring from where her shin bone had snapped and protruded from her skin. "Yes," she answered. He rotated one of her legs and saw the small puckered scar left by a bullet, another gift from Hydra, not as old as the rest.

"That one is newer," she told him, turning to the side and leaning on her hip to show him the mark, "From a couple of weeks ago, after Fury died, when they first began to hunt Steve and I."

"A bullet," he commented, stroking one finger over the scar, which was fresher and still an angry red.

"Yes," she replied. He leaned back and regarded her, the blank look back on his face, though she was fairly certain it looked a lot more strained than normal. "Are there more?" He asked and she shrugged, tapping the back of her neck. "The implant," she mentioned, and he leaned back a little further and nodded. She knew he remembered removing it.

"More?" He asked again and she got to her feet, grabbing her t-shirt and sliding it back on quickly, partially relieved. "Some, but they aren't ones you'll get to see," she told him. He got to his feet and grabbed her arm gently, turning her to him. "Why?" He asked quietly, his eyebrows drawn together in concern. She gently pulled her arm from his grasp and moved back to her end of the couch, sitting there.

"They are in places that I'm not uncovering for you," she told him flatly, hoping he got the hint. He opened his mouth to respond, and then looked away, the very slightest of flushes growing on his neck. "Oh," was all he said.

"Yeah, so, show me yours?" She asked, waving a hand at him. He nodded once and swiftly pulled off his sweater and then the sleeveless shirt beneath. Winnie was quite caught off guard and felt herself come unravelled a little bit. Bucky had always cut quite the figure with his shirt off, she remembered that in excruciatingly clear detail. But this Bucky, the Winter Soldier, was very clearly in better shape. She knew he was bigger, obviously more muscled, in super soldier shape, but seeing all of it, all at once, mere feet in front of her was enough to render her slightly dumb.

Winnie looked away for a moment, trying to cool her breathing. _You've seen this before,_ she sternly told herself. Another voice immediately answered in her head, _this isn't Bucky; you've never seen this man before._ She moved her eyes to where the metal arm met the shoulder and tightened her stomach muscles to keep from crying out. The scarring was terrible. It went all the way around, stretching out slightly towards his chest. It was thick and ugly, and her mind was only too eager to provide her with images of how it must have looked as a raw wound.

"Oh Bucky, no," she murmured without thinking, moving forward and getting to her feet. She stepped towards him and reached a hand out, her fingers gently touching the scars. His postured tightened, and she realized he was likely uncomfortable, but felt compelled nonetheless. She moved around him, looking at the entire scar, taking in the very inhuman thing that was now part of him.

"This must have been…" she trailed off, coming to a stop in front of him, unable to keep the frown from her face, the welling of tears from her eyes, "Steve said the file he had on you, it said they did this after you fell and were found, that they had to remove your arm… that you were likely aware of what was happening the whole time." Winnie started crying then. She didn't say what else Steve had told her, that he was Bucky when this happened, still well and truly their Bucky, and the notion of his pain, fear, and suffering took her breath away. Seeing the vivid evidence of it made her feel slightly woozy.

"I'm glad you don't remember," she said suddenly, almost fiercely, "I would never want you to relive this, to remember this; I'd rather lose you to the memory wipes a thousand times than have you remember even one moment of it." She clenched her teeth together, nodding slightly, surprised by how sincerely she felt that. Winnie could feel tears rolling down her face and reached a hand up, wiping them away vehemently.

"You don't have to remember, Bucky," she said, finally dragging her eyes from his scar, meeting his eyes, "You don't ever need to remember me or Steve, if it means remembering everything else, everything terrible." He was staring at her like he couldn't figure something out and she swallowed and looked away.

"I think you should –," Winnie began, pointing down at his shirt, but she never got to finish the statement. His hand grabbed the side of her face and he leaned down quickly, pressing his mouth to hers. It was awkward, it was abrupt, it was certainly not the best kiss she'd ever shared with these lips, but she was stunned into paralysed silence nonetheless.

He pulled back, just as abruptly as he had initially dove in and she saw the wary, uncertain look on his face. She thought she should say something.

"Oh," was all she could manage to say. He took a step back and she followed, reaching up for him, grasping his neck and pressing a kiss to his mouth.

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

Again, he found himself wondering why he'd done the things he'd done. His concern before, regarding her scars, had been driven by curiosity and a desire to know more about why she was the way she was. He hadn't imagined anything as terrible as what he'd seen. He'd somehow managed to convince himself that though she'd been grabbed by Hydra, held for a year, experimented on – that she hadn't been injured.

The size of the scars, the notion of the kind of pain that must have been inflicted on her, surprised him and angered him. Hydra was mostly a just a very dark concept, a constant worry in the back of his mind; he had no memories, but he was aware of what they wanted, what they had planned, what his part in their puzzle was. But, they were still just that, a thought, a looming knowledge, not a present thing, not anything tangible.

Her scarring was very tangible. He'd a moment of concern for himself when she'd pulled off her shirt and he was met with the sight of so much skin, her bare form, the shape of her sitting there, in her pants and bra. The scars pulled his attention from the more pleasant things she'd revealed though, and he was unable to dwell for very long on how appealing she was.

Her raw emotional reaction to seeing his own scarring was hard to see as well. Not just because he preferred it when she wasn't upset, but also because he knew she was instantly mourning her Bucky, grieving for the man she'd lost and grappling with the knowledge of what that man had endured. He wasn't that man, though, and he was growing ever more certain he never would be.

He wanted her to feel for _him_, the him in front of her, not the man she remembered. He wasn't certain why, but it was sometimes painful to know that her emotions, her concerns, her care, was directed towards the ghost of someone long gone, instead of towards the living, breathing man in front of her.

When she'd told him he never had to remember, that she didn't want him to, that she wanted this current Bucky protected from such horrifying things in his past, it had kindled something inside him. He realized, quite suddenly, that whatever else she said or did, she did in fact care for him, the blank and absent soldier in front of herself. It warmed him, and he'd had a brief flash of all the things he wanted to say, but didn't know how to.

So he'd kissed her. Something he had no practical experience doing, but something he knew well enough _how_ to do; after all he'd watched himself kiss her enough times in the old videos they'd watched trying to jog his memory. It seemed simple enough. Going through the actions of it left him terrified, which was another new sensation.

After the first few moments of complete and utter enjoyment, he'd pulled back, suddenly worried he'd crossed a line, attacked her with an affection she didn't want or need right now. She hadn't responded angrily though, she'd responded eagerly, following after him, pulling him into another kiss, this time both of them ready for it.

Her lips were very soft, and very warm, and her hand burned pleasantly against his neck, the other one curled into a light fist against his shoulder. He could feel the press of her clothes, her chest, her hips, against him, and had moved both arms around her, remembering their hug the day before. Adding a new element to the embrace felt very right, and he'd pressed her a little more firmly against himself.

She pulled away abruptly though, stumbling back a step out of his arms. Her eyes had tears in them again and she put a hand to her mouth, shaking her head.

"No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have," she mumbled, her tone loaded with upset, "I can't, I'm sorry." Before he could react, she had turned on her heel and dashed from the room. He heard her bedroom slam shut and didn't really know what he was meant to do now. She was upset and he was dazed. It took a moment, but he grabbed up his shirts and put them on, and then sat on the couch again.

He was worried that he'd ruined their odd relationship. That she would pull away. He struggled with himself, with his mind that was still fighting the freedom it had only recently been granted, and knew that he didn't want that. He wanted her. He cared for her and he felt saner and calmer, when she was there with him. He couldn't imagine trying to reclaim himself, trying to build himself back up into a normal functioning person, without her there.

Steve would always help him, of that he was growing more and more certain, but he didn't _just_ want help piecing himself together and fitting himself into the world. He needed more than that, and after spending all day, every day, around Winnie, for just over two weeks, he knew that he wanted her there, just because she was Winnie. Nothing more. _Is it really that simple?_ He was trying to understand the concept of simply being a man and caring for a woman.

It seemed all at once too simple, and too complex and frightening to possibly understand. _I do care, _he thought to himself, picturing her smile, her rare laughter, the way she studied things, and him. Her eyes, her mind, her tenacity. He liked it all, even if he didn't know how to say that or show it.

As terrifying as it was, some deep instinct told him he had to get up, had to go to her, had to talk to her, had to at least try and convey his snarled and murky thoughts to her; she deserved to know. He didn't want to lose everything that she meant to him.

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

Winnie paced in her room, confused and upset, her face flaming red. _Wasn't this what I wanted?_ She thought to herself, running both hands through her short hair, _I wanted him back, I wanted this, wanted him._ She shook her head, the justification not sticking. She _had_ wanted Bucky back, of course she did, but the fact still remained that this complicated, hard-faced, quiet man was _not_ Bucky.

_I may as well be cheating,_ she thought tiredly, pausing in her paces to sit down on her bed. _It can't cheating though, Bucky's dead and has been dead for a very long time. They may look alike, but this is not him._ She considered that thought for a few moments. Bucky, her Bucky, was long dead, and the evidence was growing that he, and the life they had together, the life they _would_ have had together, was gone forever. She'd spent four years mourning him, and if she really thought about their time together, her hopes and dreams back then, she was _still_ mourning their loss, because those things were _still_ all dead and gone.

She looked towards her door, as if she could see all the way to the living room. This man kissed differently, he felt different, he smelled different, he moved different, he spoke differently. He was not the Bucky Barnes she had last kissed goodbye in 1944. She let out a bitter chuckle as she randomly thought about how pleased Natasha should be for her; she was finally moving on.

"Moving on," she muttered dryly, thinking the concept was stupid. _How healthy is it to move on with a different person who just so happens to be living inside Bucky's body?_ A thought occurred to her, and she wondered if she was overreacting, if maybe this was nothing but pity. The stone-faced man out there had been watching her pine for Bucky for two weeks now. She began to think it wasn't too far-fetched to imagine that he was just extending his hugging service a little for her.

_But why would he care enough to do that?_ Winnie popped to her feet and moved to her door, determined to get answers out of him. When she pulled the door open, she leapt back with a strangled cry of surprise; he was standing right there, one hand raised as if to knock, looking equally as startled as she was.

"Oh my god!" She cried, "You scared me!" He shrugged a shoulder and nodded at her. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. She took a deep breath and tilted her head a little to the side. "You were coming to check on me?" She guessed aloud, and he nodded.

"I'm sorry," he said to her again, his eyes, his beautiful pained eyes, meeting hers, "That was wrong of me." She didn't move, just continued to stare at him. "It wasn't wrong," she found herself saying, "You only wanted to comfort me, I get it, but that's not going to help me, or you, get used to this, it's too weird – you don't have to do that, hug me or kiss me, just because you think it will make me feel better. That's not your responsibility because none of this is your fault." She turned away from him then, unable to look at him after saying her piece, and she moved to her closet, digging around for a sweater.

"What about me?" He asked from the doorway. She turned to him, a grey sweater gripped in her hands. "You?" She asked him uncertainly. He nodded, the slightest flush back on his neck. "What if I want to?" He asked carefully, meeting her eyes and then looking away. Winnie fumbled the sweater on, to buy herself time, before she stepped towards him.

"Why do you want to?" She asked, her tone soft and unsure. He looked up at her and took a couple steps towards her. "You are fascinating," he told her, and she felt a hot blush burn up her neck to her ears. "Oh," she replied. He took another step closer and she swung her eyes up to him, trying to read the expression in them.

"You want Bucky," he said flatly, "I am not him. I don't think I will ever be him." Winnie felt her mouth bowing down at the corners, unable to keep her sadness from her face; she knew it was true, but it hurt to hear him say it.

"But I am here," he said, his words slow, as if he were working hard to get them out, "And I want to be around you; I'm not sure why, maybe sometimes it is him wanting you, but other times…" Winnie raised her eyebrows at him, waiting for him to finish, not entirely sure she understood what he was getting at, "Other times it's just myself caring about you, thinking about you."

"I do care about you," she told him quietly in response, "Because you are him, and because you're not, does that make sense? You may not be the man I remember, but you seem like a good man, like eventually you'll gain more of yourself and become a great man."

"And that's it?" He asked, moving a step closer. She pressed her lips together and took a deep breath, not sure what she thought or how to answer him. She was aware now that this awkward, damaged man in front of her was admitting that he, not Bucky, but this man, had feelings for her. He didn't know how much of those feelings were driven by the real Bucky trapped in his mind under layers of Hydra destruction, or how much were solely his own, but he'd basically admitted to her that enough of the feelings were his own for him to care, to feel _something_ for her. This was a man who was brand new to the world around, who had only just gained his mind and his freedom, and he was complicated and occasionally infuriating, but he did care, it seemed.

_Could I do this? Do I want to? Maybe, _she thought to herself, not speaking as she let her eyes trail over his face, over the hair he still kept long. She knew instinctively the answer was yes, because he was Bucky, because he looked like Bucky, but also because of the heart breaking vulnerability, his perceptiveness, his strength in such a bewildering and horrible situation, and the brand of strange dry humor he possessed, drew her in.

Now, he drew her into his arms slowly, as if he were afraid she would break or attack him, and she went willingly, resting her face against his chest, listening to his heart bump along under her cheek. His arms wrapped around her firmly and she slipped hers up as well, testing out this new yet familiar situation. She thought about all the unknowns swirling around them: where was Steve? What happened next with Hydra? With SHIELD? What was Tony up to? How long were they here in this small house for?

She tilted her head away from him, looking up at him. He looked down at her, tentative, wary, confused, but content and calm. Happy maybe, as happy as the Winter Soldier could be. _And it's because of you, that's certainly something._

He bent a little towards her and they kissed again, carefully and slowly at first, before she readjusted her grip on him and deepened the kiss just the slightest bit. He responded awkwardly, before adjusting to it and returning it, heatedly.

_Could I do this? Do I want to?_ She broke their kiss and urged his head down to hers, resting her forehead against his and running her fingers through his hair, down his neck and over his shoulders, not pausing at the feel of the metal there. Everything about this seemed like it was going to be surreal, bewildering, yet perhaps utterly satisfying.

"Could I do this? Do I want to?" She whispered aloud, speaking her thoughts without meaning to. _Yes, I do, _Winnie decided internally.

Without prompting, Bucky responded softly, his lips an inch from hers, his tone halting, but his words sincere.

"You know I do."


	14. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

_**2015 – A Safe house**_

He found it strange that she was the one who seemed confused now. Not unhappy, just a little uncertain with herself and with him – insecure, awkward, new. They spent day after day, week after week, month after month, trying to adjust to their new decision, their new meanings to one another. This wasn't Winnie Johnson and Bucky Barnes, reunited at last. He felt certain, that if the Bucky of the past were to suddenly awaken inside of him, he wouldn't recognize this Winnie. She would be as much a stranger to him as the current incarnation of Bucky was to her.

She reassured him that she cared for him, that she wanted to be with him, that he meant something. Him, not the man-that-was, but him. He could see her war with herself though, the thought that she was a betrayer, that she was untrue to the ghost. He was at war with himself too. The Winter Soldier fought against him, killing instincts coming up against the new pleasant sensation of having a free will and a free mind. It took him weeks more before he was able to look at her and smile and _not_ simultaneously be thinking of all the ways she made herself a target.

He liked to watch her sleep. It was restful. She was restful. He didn't sleep much, but she required a normal amount and he liked nothing more than to lay next to her and simply watch her. She slept more soundly, her dreams less violent and less frightening than they used to be; at least that was what she told him. He knew when the nightmares came; the room came alive when she had them, putting him on alert as he watched things moving about, dodging them when necessary, waking her up if the walls shook.

She watched him while he did normal things – reading a book, drinking coffee, brushing his teeth, a small smile on her face at all times, as if she was genuinely pleased that he was simply there, that she was able to witness such normalcy.

"I don't know how long we have," she said to him softly, as they lay in bed at night. She received cryptic messages from the others in her group, the Avengers she called them; something was building, something was coming, they could both feel it. "I'm not going anywhere," he would respond, and she would clutch at his face, his arms, his chest, as if only her grasp could make his statement true.

"Say it," she would demand, on the nights when things were good, when he felt sound enough to be with her, when his overwhelming fear of hurting her was pushed aside. "You know I do," he would reply and she would smile against his mouth. Sometimes she would smile and cry, sometimes just cry, but the words meant something to them both, even though they never said anything more regarding deeper affection. He felt it, and she felt it, he was sure, but saying anything more than a pet phrase seemed impossible, dangerous.

She feared losing him again, as she had before, and made obvious efforts to choke back her words, as if admitting his importance to her meant that he would be torn away. He feared the same.

"My mother would not approve," she whispered to him, on the nights he was brave, "She would be shocked." He never responded; he didn't know her mother or remember the social protocols of the time they were from. "I waited over 70 years for this though, I think I'm quite old enough, quite serious enough," she would reason with herself. He simply enjoyed being with her, not just at night, but during the day, while they studied the things happening in the world outside their safe house, while thy trained for combat in the yard, while they cooked, ate, rested and played.

"Nomad," he would tease her, the gentle mockery seeming strange to him; he was the Winter Soldier, perhaps joking was never to be his thing. She would glare and something would smack into the back of his head without her ever moving a finger. Her wonderful ability, her unique power, her pride and her shame; she was as much Nomad as she was Winnie. He was as much the Winter Soldier as he was Bucky.

"We're a pair," she would tell him, "Damaged goods." A flash of green eyes and a smile. "Say it," she would demand.

_Love._

"You know I do_."_

_ ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..._

_*** Hey Everyone - it's been pointed out to me that author's notes as chapters are not allowed on this site, so my update chapters have been taken down - I'll use this space here to let you know that there is a one shot "Remember, Remember", as well as a longer 'part two' of sorts that has multiple chapters "It Takes Seconds to Break", following this story - find them on my profile or in the general search! Thanks for reading! ***_


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